Thou Art Mortal
by grandvizier527
Summary: President Matthias Atkinson has a very interesting idea for the 85th Hunger Games; in it he intends to show that the Capitol has risen above the deities of the past-and the tributes of the present. This was a SYOT, but now it's CLOSED.
1. Silenced

Chapter 1: Silenced

President Matthias Atkinson rose bright and early one morning. Checking his calendar, he saw that today was September 10th, AP 124. The 124 he understood—124 years since the founding of Panem—but what did September 10th represent again? At 84, he was beginning to grow worried that his age would make him forget things.

_Oh, Reaping Day. The Gamemaker changes it each year to confuse me, _he remembered, his fears of losing his memory subsiding.The president rose from his bed and unlocked his windows. Peering through the peephole of his door outside, he saw a young woman with blonde hair—quite an unusual hair color for someone in the Capitol—and a male Avox, his hands behind his back in a submissive position. The president unlocked the door and allowed them, immediately closing it as they entered.

"Coriolanus was a wise man indeed, at least in terms of management of the state," Matthias declared, more to the woman than the man. "But his paranoia about being poisoned was quite unfounded. Augustiana, should you become president one day, let me reassure you that there is no need for you to go about poisoning yourself, making your lips all swollen so that other people can't do it to you first. All that is needed are loyal allies and tight security measures. Snow was quite rash and quite paranoid about this sort of thing, though. But despite his fears he was also quite authoritarian, quite iron-handed, and quite a memorable leader. Learn from him, Augustiana Snow."

Augustiana nodded respectfully. She was used to this sort of thing from the president of Panem. Her grandfather, the infamous President Coriolanus Snow, had died shortly after the Victory Tour from the 75th Hunger Games had ended. He had accidentally overdosed on the poison he used regularly to develop an immunity to other poisons—a simple and tragic mistake that many political analysts had private admitted to having seen coming, although Snow's habits with roses and poison were supposed to be a secret from the masses. Augustiana's parents had decided that politics was not for them. Not wishing to end up the way President Snow had—dead in a way that fulfilled everyone's expectations and remembered only by the Districts for tyranny—they had passed the torch to their daughter, seeing it as the duty of the Snow to continue producing presidents so long as they themselves weren't at risk of being assassinated.

But at the conclusion of the 75th Hunger Games Augustiana had only been 7—too young and inexperienced to rule. Of course, Panem was nominally a democracy and not a monarchy, so she couldn't just run because Snow had been on the "throne" before her. But as the only remaining Snow that wasn't dead, imprisoned for life, or cowardly, she would inevitably have to enter politics to continue her family's legacy, especially since Snow had eliminated most of the political competitors from other families. With such a sparse political climate, Matthias Atkinson had run unopposed in the election (open only to Capitolites) and after a few vague promises everyone knew did not have to be kept, he was in office. But Atkinson had been an ally and close friend of Snow's, and he too wanted to see his descendants prosper over Panem with an iron glove—the expression he used to describe Snow's rule. So he had taken Augustiana under his wing, allowing her to accompany him on nearly all of his presidential duties, constantly giving her advice on what to do the day she would run for president, hoping that she would be as good of a President Snow as her grandfather had been.

But until he died, Matthias told her, he would remain as a sort of "regent" over her (apparently this was a term used during a "dark ages" prior to the Dark Days of the rebellion when power was held by a ruling family). It had been ten years since he had taken Augustiana under her wing, and although she was 17 now she was still unconfident in her ability to be the ideal President Panem needed. And so when Matthias gave her advice, she kept silent, not out of fear he would grow angry or hurt her if she spoke but because she wanted to remember what he said.

"An excellent listener you make. But your speaking skills need more work," Matthias said, as if he were a teacher overseeing a student's journey to perfection—and indeed, Augustiana thought, that was exactly how he saw it.

"I'm going to meet with Seneca. I have a very interesting idea for these Games, and I want him to implement it." Turning to Festus, he added, "Festus, my lad, I need you to select the clothing you believe is appropriate—remember the importance of this meeting!—and fetch me the long-distance walking stick." Festus, the even more silent Avox, selected the clothing. After Matthias had dressed himself (he insisted that he wasn't _that _old) Festus went off to go find the walking stick.

"Festus' absence is not required for me to tell you this, but I believe that it is time to develop your public speaking skills. I have grown tired of your disdain of speaking. I know that in the past I taught you to value instruction and become a good listener, but I did not anticipate you to be so quiet outside of my instruction. So for this Games I'm going to have you recite the speech welcoming the tributes to the Capitol, the one I would normally say." Withdrawing sheets of paper from his pocket, he gave them to her. "Memorize this. It is poor form to be seen reading off of the paper by your audience."

"I can learn this quickly," Augustiana reassured him, hoping that this would send him off faster. She treasured those rare moments when he allowed her to be separated from him. She heard a knock on Matthias' bedroom, most likely Festus trying to get back in to give the president his cane.

"Indeed you can. But socializing with Avoxes has rendered you unaccustomed to long periods of speaking. So I would suggest reciting this, perhaps to them while they are forced to remain silent. A fitting reversal of roles that you will soon have to undergo. But enough about that; I'd best be going. When I return I expect you to have it almost thoroughly memorized." Matthias opened the door for Festus, took his cane and hobbled out of his mansion, escorted by more Avoxes. When the president was gone Festus closed the door and smiled, placing an affectionate hand on Augustiana. She smiled back and spoke:

"If he'd had known how much I talk to you, he wouldn't dare call me silent," she said to him happily. Festus signed in reply that only he knew how she truly felt about this, and since he was an Avox he would never tell a soul everything she told him. The other Avoxes knew, but he was the only one that cared.

When Augustiana was 12 her parents gave her over to president Matthias, who had been in office for five years and knew enough of politics to teach her everything that her parents had wished her to know. Confident that she was in good hands, her parents left her life, never to return again, abandoning her to a man that wished to groom her as his heir to the presidency, desperately trying to preserve the Snow bloodline in the political world of the Capitol.

Augustiana could really care less how "great" her grandfather had been; he had died because he was an idiot. While the thought of the power she could hold was alluring, and the idea that she could finally instruct others to shut up and listen while _she _barked on and on at them endlessly was very appealing, she didn't know if she had it in her to be authoritarian and cruel. Matthias had shown her how to avoid being assassinated, to study the body language of what people said, explained the complexities of the shady deals people in power had to engage in, and other such things, but he had never taught her how to break away from her conscience and the sense of morality imbedded inside of her. He assumed such a thing would come as naturally as it had for Snow. But she was not her grandfather.

Her relationship with Matthias was not, nor had it ever been, romantic or sexual in nature—he had never even touched her as far as she could remember. Instead he saw her like a non-biological daughter of his, and a student to impart as much knowledge to before he could meet an untimely death—although Augustiana failed to see how one's death couldn't be considered "untimely" past 75.

Festus, the only Avox that was her age among Matthias' collection of mute servants, was her only companion—although given their attachment to each other, "companion" was an understatement. She was never quite sure why he allowed the two of them to have a relationship, but most likely it was because he did not wish for her to kill him in revenge if he had Festus executed for any reason. Or maybe, sometimes they would joke, it was because Matthias felt sorry for her, having been born into a family that had forced her into this situation, and him consenting to her relationship with Festus was his way of giving her a life outside of the political one she would be forced to enter soon.

And then they would laugh, reminding themselves that Matthias wasn't human. How would a machine like him understand the feelings and desires of a human like her?

Lacking vocal chords, Festus' laugh was silent, of course. To some people it would seem eerie or weird, but Augustiana loved it because he was the only one that would dare do something like that in her presence instead of acting like an obedient servant.

Festus, for his part, loved Augustiana, too. Alone together they were equals, not a future president or an Avox; just 2 people in love, forced together by cruel overlords. Both silenced by people that thought of themselves as their masters, one figuratively and the other literally. Among the people they knew, they were the only ones that saw each other as human beings, not as creatures or things with a specific task that they did or would soon do. But today was different; if Augustiana just sat around and talked with Festus (anything further was out of the question; there were cameras in every house, and Augustiana did not want to be caught in a compromising position) than Matthias would find out when she didn't have her speech memorized.

"As much as I hate it," she told Festus, "I actually do have something to do that's relevant _now_, not in the future. Could you believe Matthias was actually able to think of something?" she asked jokingly. Festus grinned.

"He wants me to memorize some speech to tell the tributes when they enter the Games. If I don't do it now he'll know, so you just sit there for a minute while I memorize it, and then when I'm think I'm ready I'll say it back to you." Festus asked her with sign language why Matthias had wanted to tell her only after he had to go and get his cane.

"I think he didn't want to offend you by talking about the physical act of speaking," Augustiana replied. Festus rolled his eyes slowly, open and closed his silent mouth, and then rubbed his eyes in mock sorrow. Augustiana tried not to laugh at all this, amused at his way of expressing things without words. She could tell that Festus was sarcastically remarking that he would cry if he heard someone talk about speaking. Since he hadn't been born deaf and had to learn sign language from the other Avoxes, Festus was fond of using exaggerated facial expressions and gestures to get a point across to Augustiana.

"Seriously, though, I have to memorize this," Augustiana told him. So Festus took the speech after she had memorized part of it. She focused on him the whole time, and when she got a part right he would give her a thumbs up, a thumbs down when she messed up completely, and when she stopped and went blank he did some silly charades to act out what she had to say next.

It took about 20 minutes, but Augustiana was able to memorize the speech well enough to appease Matthias.

When they were done, Festus asked her what she thought Matthias' idea for the Hunger Games was. This was the first time either of them had seen him go to Seneca Crane himself to demand a specific motif for the Games.

"I don't know. Probably something about how glorious the Capitol is, or why all those savage tributes should turn to them for everything, or that they can't beat them or something. It's always the same." Festus replied that he wouldn't know, Avoxes never really watched the Hunger Games.

"Yeah, you're lucky. Matthias makes me watch them with him every year. He likes to point out to me which ones are "rebellious" or whatever. Or as I like to call them, the humans. The ones that do their damn hardest to make sure that they don't become cheap pawns for entertainment. Of course, I don't see many of those, and the ones that I do are always big disappointments. Katniss Everdeen from District 12 was one of the worst. You know how she won?" Festus made the biggest frown he could possibly make, widened his eyes, shrugging his shoulders and throwing up his hands, looking like an idiot about to say "I dunno!" in a dopey voice. But Augustiana felt passionately about this so she didn't think it was funny.

"She and her district partner Peeta had this whole 'in love' angle. Totally fake, but of course the Capitol ate it up. They ended up in the final 2 together—don't ask—and then they were about to feed each other nightlock. That would have been awesome because then there would have been no champion. They were about to eat it at the same time when guess what? Katniss shoved hers in Peeta's open mouth! He looked surprised she had done that to him let me tell you, and as he was dying from the nightlock—she forced him to swallow it—he kept looking at her, like he expected her to back off or eat them with him. But nope, she had left him to die!"

Festus tried to argue that maybe she had been planning it all along, and that the Hunger Games forced those situations on people all the time. Or at least that's what he assumed, he told her, since he had never really watched them much.

"No, that's not how it worked. If she had planned on killing him from the beginning then she would have somehow let the Capitol know. I think they would have liked that, too, actually; the fatal temptress or whatever, except Katniss wasn't pretty enough for that. She was from District 12, you know, so she probably had other priorities. I think it went like this: right then, when Seneca announced that one of them had to kill each other, she knew she had 3 choices: let Peeta win, let herself win and kill him, or let themselves both die. The first option was out, because who wants to die? Nobody. She probably figured that if she let both of them die then the Capitol would do something awful like hold another Hunger Games, like a do-over or something, or maybe just kill some random people or their families for the actions of the 2 people that they couldn't control. I would have liked that, but that's not what she did. Instead she was a coward and decided to just lie low, being like everybody else and lose her humanity to the Capitol! She could have sparked quite a fire, but she didn't want to light the match. She was scared of the flames."

Festus replied that it was best not for her to look for heroes on TV.

"But where else could I find someone to look up to? I know that sounds kind of silly since I'm probably too old for a role model, but what I mean is I want somebody that can rescue me, and save me from the fate of having to be a cruel, heartless monster like Snow or this orderly, detached…I don't know what Matthias is, but I don't want to be like him, either!"

Festus pointed out that if someone defied the Capitol and started rebellion, they'd probably end up killing her just because her last name was Snow.

"I'll be able to manage. I'm fine with not being President if it means the world is a better place. But that'll never happen. Most of those tributes are cowards or cold-blooded killers, whether they win or not. And if they had a shred of dignity before the Games then it gets taken away from them. For the most part they _deserve _to die."

Festus scowled and shook his head; he apparently didn't agree.

"Except for a few of them," Augustiana added. "Like Rue. I wish people like her would win once in a while." Festus still frowned.

"Fine, fine, they're all human beings. Except us," Augustiana declared. Festus hated the cynicism she exhibited on occasion. He looked at her pleadingly, begging her to hold on to at least a small scrap of dignity, at least for his sake.

Augustiana sighed. "It's hard to be human when the Capitol is breathing down your back."

**AN: Sorry that was so long! I know some of you didn't really care for it, I just wanted to give some backstory to some OCs. I promise once the tributes show up they'll leave the spotlight, for the most part.**

**To clarify what's going on here: This is an AU in which Katniss won the 74 Hunger Games the way Augustiana described, rather than winning it with Peeta. We'll get her own POV on this later, I promise. Also, President Snow died from taking too much poison in an attempt to try and make himself immune to it right after the 75****th**** Games. Since Katniss and Peeta never sparked a rebellion, the Quarter Quell was something different (you'll see later), and it went smoothly. Also, Seneca Crane is still alive and the head Gamemaker because he was able to pressure Katniss into not starting the spark of a rebellion.**

**Please give me some feedback on Matthias, Augustiana, and Festus in a review! I'm not the best with OCs, but these 3 seemed to come to my head pretty quickly.**

**The form will be on my profile, past the bio. Ignore the poll, it's for another fanfic (I'm writing 4-5 different things at once! I really shouldn't have done that, but I can't stop now!) Please send the forms for the tributes via PM, NOT REVIEW. The sponsor system will be in the next chapter since the form was unintentionally very long.**


	2. The flame that never sparked

Chapter 2: The flame that never sparked

I scream and thrash awake, shoving the covers off of myself to wake up from sleep. I let my eyes take in my surroundings, the bedroom I've slept in every night for almost 11 years now.

_It's not the arena, _I tell myself in a hushed whisper every morning. _They're all dead. You did what you had to do._

Turning over to look to my left, I see that my husband isn't there. He's already awake, probably out hunting or something. Even years later, despite being much better off, Gale's always going out hunting for meat, just like he used to. We may not need to do that anymore, but he still does because it's a part of his life, and it's still the best way to get meat for the rest of District 12, which is still starving. It's not like they were instantly lifted out of poverty the moment I was declared Victor.

_Hunting used to be a part of my life, too,_ I remember, before the Games. But every time I join Gale, my mind is taken back to when I had to hunt for food in the arena. I would keep expecting someone from the Games to appear behind a tree, or suddenly caught in a snare. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me, telling me that it's Rue that made that ruffled those leaves, or that Cato is just behind that tree. The worst time was when I saw a mockingjay. I couldn't stop crying.

So now I don't go hunting anymore; it brings back some of the worst memories. But not the _very _worst. That one never leaves my dreams.

I get up out of bed and put on some clothes for the day, going into the kitchen to see Prim.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks me, having a good idea of how bad my nightmares are sometimes. How could she not know from the times I scream sometimes?

"Well enough. I'll be okay. Where's mom?" I ask.

"At work," Prim replies. "You want to go join her?"

"Maybe later," I say. My family has been living with me in the Victor's mansion ever since I won. I got money for winning, sure, but it certainly wasn't enough to last us for 11 years. So eventually my mom went back to work at the apothecary, and Gale hunts in the mornings, usually not coming home until noon. Prim is the manager of flower shop, occasionally joining Gale in the woods to get wildflowers when she can't find them anywhere else. And me?

I'm wasting away. Sometimes I help the others out with their jobs, but it's not enough. I feel like I'm not contributing enough, my mind too preoccupied with the past, but they've never once complained about it. I guess they understand, at least just a little bit, how much of a shell of my former self I am now.

"I'm going to go see Haymitch," I tell Prim. "If Gale gets back let him know."

"I actually have to go to work, too," Prim explains. "I was just waiting for you to wake up. Didn't want to leave you here alone and asleep. Gale probably won't be back before you are, though, so don't worry."

"Thanks," I smile with as much sincerity as my broken mind can muster. Prim once offered to listen to my troubles and trauma with the Games, but I turned her down. I don't want her to share the burden and the guilt I have of knowing that I failed.

But I don't want to think about that now. I'm going to go drink my troubles away with Haymitch.

But when silently I open the front door to his mansion—he's ok with me walking in—I don't find him to be his usually drunk self. Instead he's watching TV, and what's on the screen brings me to tears.

My failure. That's what he's watching. The end of the 74th Games.

He doesn't know I'm here, and I don't make a sound. As horrible as this, I'm compelled to stay, watching the way I committed such a selfish act of betrayal. And the Capitol cheered on every minute of it, I was told.

I watch as Peeta and I sit down on the ground, turning our backs to each other, the nightlock berries in our hands. It looks like there will be no winner. It looks like we're both about the show the Capitol that we won't be pawns in their Games, and that they can't break us. Our deaths will let the people of the Districts know there is a way out of being manipulated, that they can fight back. And then a rebellion will spark.

But that's not what actually happens.

"One," I hear myself say on the screen as we both lift our berries to our mouths.

"Two," I add, noticing my own eyes widen with recognition. I remember what I was thinking. I was so close to being free, I thought. It was only me and him left. If I won, the suffering would end, I thought. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live, for my mother and for Prim. To show them that the odds were in my favor after all.

So I don't say "three". I twist around, grabbing Peeta's hand and cupping it to his mouth, forcing the berries in. I get up and turn around, keeping my hand covering his mouth the whole time, until I'm standing over him, facing him, looking directly into his eyes, watching as they widen with surprise.

_Why did you kill me? _I can sometimes hear him whisper. _You betrayed me. You let them use you. You let them win. They know now that our love was a lie._

_Why would you be so cruel to me?_

I cry out in sorrow as the tears start to flow, and Haymitch immediately turns around, having finally realized I was behind him the whole time. He turns off the TV and escorts me to his couch, letting me sit down.

"Next time tell me when you're coming," he says awkwardly as I sob. I'm not mad at him. He didn't know I was there, and I didn't want to know. Something in me told me that I had to relive what had happened all those years ago, when I let myself surrender to the whims of the Capitol.

Haymitch gives me a hug as I cry, tempted to offer me the wine he has within an arm's reach.

"It happened to all of us," he whispers. "They all make us break. We all get used. And afterwards all we can do about it is move on. Or drown out those feelings. You need to do that more than I do."

"No," I tell him. "Thank you, Haymitch. But I can't be like you and just let it all go. But I don't want to linger on it, either. Instead I want to learn from my failures, and do what I can to ensure that no one ever does what I did." It's easier to say this through choked tears than to do it, I think, but Haymitch can tell.

"He should have won," Haymitch tells me. "But I knew that it would be you."

. . . . .

I return home minutes later, having a few drinks with Haymitch to calm my nerves, but not enough to get drunk or delirious. I find the rest of the family around the TV as he had been, watching what is supposed to be a news channel broadcasted from the Capitol, although all it consists of is trash and gossip about various Capitolites and ex-victors, usually Careers. I have been all but forgotten by these people, but I'll bet they were talking about me once. Still, we wouldn't get this news channel if we hadn't won, and as our only connection to the Capitol it's vital for us to know what goes on there. Whatever happens there affects us in the Districts.

"What's on?" I ask.

"Hunger Games speculation. They've been chatting about the President and how he had a private meeting with Seneca," my mother explains.

I haven't seen Matthias Atkinson much, but from what I know of him he's nothing like Snow. No one could have guessed that he would have died so suddenly. I remember when I first heard the news that he had died (we weren't allowed to know how), I felt both relieved and horrified. I was glad that he was dead and didn't miss him at all, but I dreaded whoever it was that would come next for a while. Not having any idea who would succeed him was scary. What if this next president was even worse?

I needn't have worried, though, President Atkinson was more of the same, although all sorts of rumors go on about him and Snow's granddaughter, Augustiana. Her parents didn't want to go into politics so they made her do it. Atkinson legally adopted her as his child to take her under his wing, wishing to rekindle the Snow bloodline in the political world of the Capitol. But there were all sorts of rumors about their relationship. Some said Matthias used her as a source of revenue by making her a prostitute, others say he kept her all for himself. Others say that he intended to have children with her to continue the Snow bloodline, but he was impotent due to his age, so they hadn't had any luck with children.

I don't care about most of those rumors, although there is one that intrigues me. Some people say that Matthias knows things we don't, and he's keeping the information from us. Knowledge of the past. I don't know why this would be especially important to know, but the details interest me. What were people like before Panem, before the floods? Were there power-hungry dictators, or masses of people forced to provide so many goods to a much smaller wealthy elite? And did they have people killed for their own amusement?

It couldn't have always been that way. But I stop pondering and focus my thoughts on what's being said on the screen. There are 2 Capitolites, a man and woman, talking in excited tones. At least I think they're a man and a woman, I honestly can't tell with Capitol fashion. And I remember once thinking that Effie was weird-looking.

"Oooh, that sounds like a cool idea!" coos the man, Pompey. With his purple hair, orange-dyed skin and lime green suit, it's hard not to laugh at him or wonder if he has some sort of condition.

"Yes, wouldn't it be? Space-age future stuff is, like, so in!" agrees the girl, Gamma. Her nails, lips, and eyes are painted blue, but her hair is white and part of her hair sticks up like two antennae, spiraling above her head. I didn't catch most of their conversation, but I have the feeling they're talking about what the arena will be like this year. Something tells me that Gamma is way off. Between my Games until now, the arena designs have been fairly conventional. Even the Quarter Quell right after mine didn't seem too special; the only rule change was that the tributes were all allowed to use guns and explosives instead of the conventional weapons used in the Games. Those were short but deadly, with all the body parts blown off and bullet wounds. Predictably, my District tributes didn't last long, but neither did most other people. Not even the Careers were able to do well; the only ones who did good were the ones who got the weapons first.

The arena itself looked like a bombed out war-zone, probably based off of the ruins of District 13. There's another rumor that Matthias Atkinson sent strike teams down there and killed the radioactive zombie people living down there, but I doubt that. Zombies aren't real, and wouldn't they be dead from the radiation? In any case, the Victor, Ernest Howitzer, was really traumatized. I haven't seen much of him since I've had to go to the Capitol for all the subsequent Games.

"What do you think the arena will be like, Katniss?" Gale asks, breaking off my thoughts. I think for a moment before replying:

"I honestly don't know. Atkinson doesn't let much about himself be known to the Districts. I have no idea what sort of preferences he'd have in regards to the Games." Hopefully they'll be normal, or have some minor twist that won't make them memorable.

"If you're worried, you could always get Haymitch to mentor," my mother suggests. "Wouldn't you like to take a break from going to the Capitol?"

"No. I can't leave any tributes with Haymitch. As much as I hate going back, I have to. I want to be there for those tributes, to give them just a bit of hope that they can win…even if they have to do something they'll regret for the rest of their lives to do it."

Everyone goes silent at my words. They know I mean Peeta. Not even Gale says a bad word about him, or about my actions. Only Haymitch has the guts to mention the end of my Games, like he did today. The others think I'll lash out at them or something. I'd never do that, although if I could, I'd probably say the things that I usually scream in my head, like:

_I took his trust and broke it._

_Peeta should have won._

_I betrayed him._

_I let the Capitol win._

_I pleased them by giving them one last bit of bloodshed._

_If I had had the opportunity to inspire, to show that the Capitol's control isn't complete, I failed to show it._

_I couldn't start the spark._

_I failed._

**AN: What do you think of this Katniss? She's not as cool or badass as the actual one, I know, but this is what I think she would be like if she had been. I know you might think it would be OOC for her to do what she did here, but the idea here is "what if" she had ended her Games more conventionally.**

**And yes, she's married to Gale, which is what I assumed would happen. I'm not a shipper (at least not for the Hunger Games, and not extensively), I just assumed that if she had killed Peeta then she would marry Gale. Although they don't have any kids because Katniss doesn't want them ending up in the Hunger Games. You know how the Capitol likes to put the children of Victors in the Games! Of course, when I was first reading the books I assumed that she would end up with Gale, not Peeta. It was just sort of inaccurate guess…**

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**Frag Grenades (only 2!)—80 points. You can only buy these for your tribute once, and there's no guarantee they'll kill!**

**Iodine—15 points**

**Knives (for throwing)—10 points, only you get only five knives since they're easier to get retrieve if you miss.**

**MYSTERY PRIZE!—120 points. Only one person can get it, and believe me it's guaranteed to kill if your tribute can aim! But it only has one shot.**

**Rope—20 points. But I'd only get it if your tribute knows how to use it well or can think up a good plan with it.**

**Scuba gear—Allows your tribute to swim underwater and stay there for as long as they need to, but it would be best if they knew how to swim…**

**Shield—A lightweight and sturdy shield that can protect against the dozens of sharp things that tributes are usually killed by.**

**Sleeping bag—20 points**

**Spear—35 points**

**Super-advanced Capitol medicine—75 points. Heals poisons and fatal wounds.**

**Steel helmet—40 points. Protects the head from most attacks, but it's heavy.**

**Steel chestplate—40 points. Protects the chest, back, and neck from attacks, but it's even heavier.**

**Steel leggings—40 points. Protects the legs from most attacks, but it slows your tribute down.**

**Warning: The full set of armor can protect your tribute from all sorts of things, but not everything. It also slows them down and weighs a ton, which might be a bad thing depending on the situation.**

**Sword (please specify if you have a specific kind in mind)—50 points**

**Trapping supplies—30 points. Rope isn't on here because it could be used for other things as well. Includes large boulders, sharp stakes, snares, bear traps, bait for animals, poison, etc.**

**Water bottles/canteens—25 points**

**These prices will go up if I see a bunch of people buying this stuff with ease! But if so I'll post the new prices.**

**There will be one more chapter after this before the reapings, and maybe a few more after that. But I can't start the story until I get more tributes! So far I only have had 5 submitted, and 3 I'm very sure I'll be using. So keep it up!**

**UPDATE: Ok, so I've been getting several more tributes in the past few hours, and so far I've noticed a few things. Because of these trends, I want to add a few things in regards to submissions:****1. I need more boys!**

**2. Try not to send any "quiet" and submissive/docile/obedient characters. I have enough silent and rarely-speaking characters that are used to being given orders already. Not that you need to send loud, rude and arrogant characters, but I don't need anymore silent people that take in a lot of information by listening to others.**

**3. I haven't gotten a lot of Careers, so most of the Career spots are still open.**

**4. Lower your ages! I'm sure other SYOT writers have told you this if you're familiar with this process, but just because you send a 12-year old doesn't mean they're going to be a bloodbath.**

**At the moment there are four of which I am very likely to use, and several more that have a good chance of going in if they're revised by their respective submitters a bit more.**


	3. Old and new ideas

Chapter 3: Old and new ideas

Matthias walked quite briskly for man in his 80s that had to use a cane and was constantly escorted by Avoxes meant to catch him if he fell. To the Gamemakers inside the lobby of the of the Training Center, he had an unmistakable aura of tenacity; whatever he was here for, he intended to get it done.

President Atkinson took the elevator to the Head Gamemaker's office, finding Seneca Crane in his office. He knocked on the door to alert his attention as if he were an Avox about to hand him clothes. Seneca had to stifle a gasp when he saw that the President himself was standing before him.

"Mr. President! I didn't expect your arrival this early. The catering company has yet to show up—"

"I don't require any food. Call a meeting with your workers. All of you must know how I would like the arena to be designed."

"You were so vague on the phone yesterday, Mr. President. If you mean a full-scale redesign of the Arena, it might be difficult. We'd only have a few days to do it before the Games officially begin," Seneca explained.

"I have full confidence that you can get it done. If I'm not mistaken, you've survived ultimatums from presidents before, have you not?" Matthias was referring to the 74th Hunger games, taking Seneca back to when President Snow had ordered him not to allow Katniss and Peeta to become an inseparable couple, making the Capitol not wanting either of them dead. He had failed at that—he had really hoped that those mutts would have killed one of them, leaving the survivor with Cato—but thanks to Katniss Snow had forgiven him of his failures.

"Yes, I have," Seneca said meekly, feeling pathetic for submitting to this old man.

"Stop being docile. There is no threat of execution, so long as you can design the arena to my specifications," Matthias reassured him.

In minutes Seneca had gathered all of the Gamemakers into a private meeting room, and at Matthias' insistence it was one that didn't have any windows. He did not wish for this information to be leaked, as the Capitolites would be prone to doing if they could help it. Matthias withdrew a set of blueprints from his suit and laid them out on the table everyone was seated at, inviting them to pass it around and observe the details he had in mind.

"Before you ask questions, ladies and gentleman, let me explain my motives for this design," Matthias began. "Are any of you familiar with the past? The distant past? More specifically, the time before the establishment of this state?"

"You mean Panem?" A Gamemaker woman piped up, her voice slightly shrill. Matthias glared at her.

"Yes. Panem," Matthias said, the venom in his voice dripping from saying that word. "I prefer simply refer to…Panem as 'the state'. Personally I despise the name. It is simply Latin for bread. What sort of country are we if we name ourselves after a piece of food?!" Matthias demanded, lowering his voice when he saw that the Gamemakers were silently waiting for him to get on with it. _They don't know Latin_, he reminded himself, _and therefore they see no reason to change the name. Perfect._

"Just as I thought," Matthias went on, as if he had never had that outburst. "None of you seem to care about the silliness of the name of the state. You are ignorant of the past. I could tell by your reactions when I informed you of what Panem means. And the Districts are most likely even more ignorant of the past before Panem. If you do not know Latin, imagine how little they know! They may have never heard of dynastic succession, or the Golden Horde, or of dinosaurs, or the concept of imperialism, the American Civil War, either of the World Wars, communism, and so forth and so on. They have almost no knowledge of the world before them. They knew that there was _something _before them, but they do not know what."

"Where are you even going with this?!" A Gamemaker blurted out. "Who cares about old things? What do you want the arena to be like, a bunch of schoolteachers mocking the tributes and telling them how little they know? You sound like my grandpa, rambling on about old things that no one knows about!" Matthias sighed as loudly as he could, with all the other Gamemakers staring at the one who had spoken up. He looked nervous, expecting some sort of punishment for his sudden outburst. But none came.

"The point I am trying to make, ladies and gentlemen," Matthias went on, "Is that no matter how hard the state tries to suppress the knowledge of these things, it can never be truly extinguished. History can never be completely falsified or forgotten—and if it can then we lack the capabilities to do so to our citizens. Could you imagine if a flood of knowledge from somewhere beyond this continent were to be brought into the state? The Districts would eventually remember everything—everything that I myself already know, so that I may learn from the past and not repeat mistakes. And they would remember ideas, ideas from a time in which the state did not oppress them. And then the flames of rebellion would spark, and instead of a directionless, blind rebellion against the Capitol, it would be one demanding us to return to old ways, to a time when the continent was not divided into Districts or forced to give almost all of their products to a central location. And one of the most dangerous ideas are ones that speak of beings more powerful than ourselves. That idea is religion. Now, I'm sure all of you have some idea of what religion in question is, and they all differ from each other quite significantly. But many of them have, in some way or another, a god. A deity that its adherents can look to as a higher power over all the world. More powerful than us, the Capitol. I cannot stop the inevitable flood of knowledge of the past, I fear. But should it happen, I intend to make sure that no one can turn to the gods of the old days to guidance, or in defiance of the Capitol by swearing their allegiance to one of them. We will show them that the Capitol is mightier than the gods, because we can recreate them. We can control them and use them to our advantage. And with them we can crush any power of the tributes'—or use our power to make them destroy each other."

"What does it matter?" the same Gamemaker from before spoke up. "The gods aren't real. They were just something people made up a long time ago. Why would people look to things they know aren't real?"

"As long as they exist in their minds, and as long as they offer a way of life outside of working for the state, the gods are as real as you and me," Matthias proclaimed somewhat cryptically. "It does not matter if they are tangible to us or not. If they would rather serve it than us, then we have a problem."

"What sort of gods do you have in mind?" Seneca Crane asked.

"A very good question," Matthias replied. "If you have all observed the blueprints, you would see that I have designed an arena based on the climates in which numerous old gods were conceived. There are many that I would suggest that you choose from, but none are to be from a modern religion that adherents prior the founding of the state. None from religions that we had to take great care to wipe out during and after the rebellion to establish our power. If we were to use one of the younger religions with adherents that were once numerous in this continent before the floods and the rebellion, it would be quite dangerous. If we misrepresented their respective gods or placed a tribute in a position where they were required to demonstrate this god's weakness, then we would run the risk of facing a revolt from any underground religious communities that have so far evaded our iron hand."

"So, what does that mean? Which ones can we use and which ones can we not use?" the same defiant Gamemaker asked. Matthias left the room for a moment and returned with a stack of books, having a bit of difficulty carrying them all without his cane for support. He placed them on the table and continued his instructions.

"Only deities who are explained in these books. It might seem absurd to show that the Capitol can crush religions that are already gone, but the idea is not to re-introduce the Districts to the religions themselves. It is to use their respective gods, to demonstrate the power that they have—the sort of tangible, destructive power that the later religions seemed to have had less emphasis on—and show that we are superior. It should not be a hard task once you choose appropriate gods for each region of the arena. With that, Matthias hobbled away.

"And remember," he told the group, particularly Seneca Crane, "Show the gods in all their power as much as you technologically can recreate, but do not make them invincible. Let all who participate or watch the Games be able to know that these deities, so long as they are in the arena, submit to the will of the Capitol. We rise above them all in our power because we oppress, because we render the Districts unable to follow them or any other thing if they wish. We are their god. Let them know of the past—and then crush it before their eyes, letting them realize that it is gone forever."

The Gamemakers all nodded in agreement, eager to see the President go at least. Seneca followed him out the door while the others began reading to try and see what they could come up with.

"Now, Mr. Crane," Matthias asked as he was leaving the building, "What do you think of my idea? I want to hear your honest opinion."

Seneca gulped, knowing that this man could get him killed for saying the wrong thing. If it was Snow then he certainly _would _be killed for speaking against the idea.

"I think," Seneca began, "That it will either show just how powerful the Capitol is, or…"

"Or what?" Matthias asked, his beady old eyes boring into the Head Gamemaker.

"Or just how mad and tyrannical you are," Seneca finished. Matthias gave a smile, one that seemed surprisingly genuine for an old, callous man like him. He chuckled and told Seneca:

"I suppose it would, wouldn't it? Let us hope that the odds are in my favor, then."

**AN: Let me know what you think of all this in a review!**

**To clarify, only gods from ancient, pagan (ie. Pre-Christian, and in some cases possibly pre-Buddhist) religions will be used, so don't worry about being offended or anything. I would never do that sort of thing ****J**

**Matthias wants deities with power and specified appearances, not individuals like Jesus, Mohammed or Buddha that would espouse wisdom. To proof that Capitol logic is "superior" to the respective ideologies of these people would be impossible (because then he'd have to justify the Capitol's cruel practices). He also has this sense that the older an idea, the more people in the Districts would latch on to it. So he wants to prevent that by showing them that religions of the ancient past have nothing on the Capitol. Whether his plan works or not is something I can't say yet ;)**

**But now that you have this information, I don't want you changing your tributes in light of it. Just send in who you were planning on sending. I still have plenty of room at the moment, and I REALLY need more boys.**

**I said this on my profile as well, but I'll say it again: if you're curious about how many sponsor points you have, I can't help you until after I have decided which tributes are going in and look at everyone who submitted. I'll PM you all individually afterwards, but for now you'll just have to keep track of points yourself.**

**Trivia question: Which of these characters fell down a ravine? (only one answer)**

**Ilana**

**Puyo**

**Uncle Ruckus**

**Squidward**


	4. Solace

Chapter 4: Solace

_Go to the Cornucopia, _they told them.

_Grab some supplies, maybe a sword, _they told them.

_Survive those next couple of days. Don't get your head sliced off, _they told them.

I listened like an eager child when the time came, ready to follow in the footsteps of the survivors. But fate said otherwise. I was in a Quarter Quell, after all.

_We don't know what to tell you, _they told me. They couldn't.

_We'll try and get you a bullet-proof vest, _they told me. They didn't.

_They'll minimize the explosions, they're controlled, _they told me. They weren't.

My name? Ernest Howitzer, victor—or as I would like to call myself, _victim-_of the Quarter Quell. The Capitol took 3 fingers, the skin on my right shoulder, and my right leg from the bottom half of the knee down.

But more importantly, they took my mind.

We didn't get an ordinary Quarter Quell, oh no. Nothing predictable that would spare us from the war zone, like a bunch of past victors, or double the tributes. Instead we got one that Snow pulled out from a hat—I know WITHOUT A DOUBT that he picked that very thing on purpose, I saw his fingers pause!—and we got the war zone. That was where we had to go. Swords? No, not there. No ropes, or bows and arrows, or knives. We got something much worse: Guns. Bombs. Rocket Launchers. Missiles. Fighter jets. Drones. We didn't know how to use much of it, but those nice folks at the training center showed us how. All Capitol veterans from the rebellion, eager to show us how to blow someone to bits instead of hacking them to death like normal. But what does it matter, dead is dead!

And alive is me. I am alive despite what they did to me.

The bloodbath was horrendous. In minutes, one of the tributes grabbed a machine gun and began to spray us with bullets. We couldn't duck down, then she'd shoot us more until our bodies were riddled with enough bullet holes in our backs that we had to be dead! A Career, you ask? No. Just some little 13 year old from 11. She cried her head off as she did it, but how we were supposed to hear her over the sound of the boy from 7, the one that found the grenades?

He threw one at her, and one at a cluster of tributes that tried to crawl away, desperate to patch up their wounds. Against all odds there were bits of medicine here and there in the Cornucopia. I crawled, crawled like the little worm that the Capitol saw me as, hiding in the tall grass on the hills in the war zone. The whole place had dark clouds and no trees. Heaven forbid we had a place to hide for long. So I slithered away, carrying what supplies I could into a backpack I could get not far from where I had started out, away from the girl with the machine gun and the boy with the grenades. Inside the backpack was enough food to last for just 2 days. Guess they didn't want it to be long.

Day 2. 16 dead, only 8 of us left. There were no Careers, no alliances. Just 7 other people out to get me. I went back to the Cornucopia to find a pistol that no one had bothered to take. Too weak, they must have thought. But it was perfect. I named it Solace. It—she—was my only comfort in that arena, the only one to tell me that things were all right. Solace and I shot the girl from 11 before she knew what hit her. The boy from 7 had died after the boy strangled him the next night. Solace and I found him, though, as he tried to head down a valley. He didn't crawl, the fool didn't crawl! He let himself be exposed, he didn't let the grass protect him. Just like the wheat fields of District 9. I had always taken them for granted, I had never known they would protect me one day, or at least something like them would. I waited for the others to watch as they picked up his body in a hovercraft. The girl from 2 was dumb enough to show up and see if he had left anything behind. I got her, and then it was only 2 left; the boy from 5 and the girl from 4. They sought each other out, and then I emerged from my hiding place as the girl from 4—the winner of their little shootout—searched for me.

But then the bombs came. The bombs that told us to hurry up! One got my fingers. They were all around me, and the loud booming sounds were like a series of death sentences. I couldn't help but think there was some madman up there, dropping bombs just above the clouds, hoping that Solace and I would never go home! I wanted to show him, so I did. I met up with the girl from 4, and I saw her first, so I crawled like usual, trying to sneak up on her and put a bullet to her head. But nope! She heard me and tossed a grenade, and then she shot her machine gun to try and stop me if I got up, riddling me with enough bullets to let the grenade do her dirty work. So I rolled to my left, about to scramble up and dash away from where she was shooting when BOOM! The grenade got me, sending a piece of shrapnel into my right shoulder. I let it take the brunt of the explosion as best as I could, trying to make it shield the rest of my body. But then she threw another one, seeing me again. This time I ran on all fours, like a slightly more dignified animal, sort of running on my legs and my hands at once, and so the grenade only blew up on my right foot, with another fragment piercing my right knee. She thought I was dying, so she came up close, terrified of my severed body—she herself was fine—and then I shot her in the face! She didn't see that coming, let me tell you! But the Capitol knew I had Solace. They knew how important she was to me, so when I woke up, clutching her in my arms, they didn't take her away. They emptied out her bullets, but that was ok. We wouldn't need them anymore, now that we had survived. We were war veterans, retired soldiers in the Capitol's mad war.

And now, the explosions have been gone for 9 years. I'm always terrified that when I watch the Games, someone will be an idiot and blow up the mines before they're allowed to start. Explosions scare me, bringing me back to the days of the war, the 3 day war that ruined my body and my mind. Not that I cared about either one before, but now they're so precious to me. And Solace…she saved me, but she's a memory, a memory that won't let me move on.

They asked me to mentor this year, to replace the other Victor that passed away. There weren't many others, but I was the only one without family or loved ones to miss when I go away to the Capitol. The ones that made me this way.

I wish I could stop, but I can't. The bombs go off every night. The gunshots always ring out in my dreams. No other tribute will ever know what I went through. They'll never lose their limbs, just go a little crazy and get some bad cuts.

But maybe, for their sake, for the sake of whoever gets stuck with me, I can be there for them. I can let go, one step at a time. I can tell my own rebellious brain that the war is over. That I've earned rest and peace. I want to give my first tributes solace, just like how Solace gave me. I want to give them solace that they will never go what I went through.

So I throw her away and go to the train station. I'm sorry sweetheart, but in order to keep going, I have to let go of you. Please try to understand.

I don't want to be called crazy anymore. I don't want anyone to feel like they have to escort me all the time. I don't want to be insane anymore. I want my mind back, even if it means mentoring the Games and watching the slaughter take place again, if it means that I can assimilate with the rest of them.

I just want to be normal. Why did it have to be taken away from me?

**AN: Right, this chapter is mostly filler, but here you get to see Ernest Howitzer. He's a little insane, yes, but he's not dangerous. Not anymore, now that he's out of his war zone…**

**I also wanted to give some updates on submissions. Here is what I have so far that I'm definitely going to use (Not giving names yet, though):**

**Boy 1**

**Girl 1**

**Boy 2**

**Girl 2**

**Girl 3**

**Girl 4**

**Boy 5**

**Girl 5**

**Boy 6**

**Girl 6**

**Girl 7**

**Girl 8**

**Girl 9**

**Boy 10**

**Girl 10**

**Girl 11**

**Boy 12**

**Anyone not on that list I still need. Of the tributes I have, I might have to change some ages a bit. I want to try and get four for each age group, which will be easy to do since some tributes don't have age-relevant personalities (I could change their age and they would be the same).**

**I've gotten a few more besides these, but they're not finalized yet.**

**I've also decided that the reapings chapters will be in the perspective of one tribute from each district (can't do all the POVs, sorry) and I'll try and give you guys as much information as possible.**

**Due to some very creative ideas and some brainstorming between me and the submitters, some will have certain relationships to my OCs. I want to say right now that this doesn't guarantee that they win or survive or anything and those who don't have any "connections" die. That would be unfair! If one character that's not a tribute likes them, that means nothing in the arena except for maybe some moral support.**

**Also, remember how I said I wanted no more quiet tributes (because I have enough already)? Add snarky/sarcastic to the list, I have plenty of those, now, too (not all of them, of course). I just don't want a lot of similar personalities, because then I have to write the story and distinguish them from each other, and if I have trouble doing that then you the reader will, too.**

**Also here's one more available sponsor gift that could really help (not that I want you buying it before the Games): A portable desalinator—a thick, cup-like device that you pour water through. At the bottom the desalinator trickles out purified drinking water. Essentially you can scoop up saltwater with this and convert it to fresh and drinkable within minutes. Is it real thing? Of course not (desalination is very complicated), but this is the future, so let's pretend a little! It costs 60 points.**

**And here's the trivia question: Which Felt member wears a maroon hat?**

**A. Doze**

**B. Crowbar**

**C. Snowman**

**D. Trace**


	5. District 2 reapings--The Rivals

Chapter 5: District 2 reapings—The rivals

If someone had told Tiberius Townsend that blood was not meant to be shed, and that human life was equal, he would have given them a polite smile and told them that he simply disagreed. Or perhaps he would have given a snicker and moved on. Or he would stare at them with contempt, wondering why this insect hadn't been squashed yet.

Given his line of work, he liked to have things—included people—organized. Those who protested (in no small part due to their own inferiority) would be forever known as "things" unless they prominently displayed their fighting ability. Most people were "lessers" under Tiberius' hierarchy; wretched creatures that had dirt running through their veins—not literally, but it certainly amused him to pretend. Those that he knew personally that had combat skills equal to his own were, as their name suggested, "equals". Numerous Careers at the Academy were under the impression that if Tiberius considered them an "equal" than that meant he respected them or liked them, but that was not the case in the least (in fact, there was one that repulsed him). It merely meant that their fighting abilities were equal to his own, and only made Tiberius all the more eager to surpass them so that he could bestow them with the new label of "lesser". There were also the "betters", people in authority over him that he was forced to rank higher above him despite them having no combat skills whatsoever. Never had Tiberius considered placing another Career up there. And nor would he ever.

But this hierarchy wasn't on his mind right now; indeed, he was far too busy in the gym of the Career Academy, trying desperately to dislodge his weapon from his twin brother's.

Being the twin of Tiberius caused JT to have a very similar mindset as his brother, and as such he too had established a hierarchy in his mind. However, JT did not view the hierarchy as a guide to how one should respond to people, but instead as a sort of reference, to see if someone was worth his time or not. To Tiberius a lesser was worth spitting upon; to JT a lesser was too unimportant even for that. They were best left alone in their own worlds.

At the moment the twins were sparring with their signature weapons; usually these confrontations were too evenly matched and lasted for minutes with no clear winner. Each had adopted attacks, counter-attacks, and countermeasures to counter-attacks against each other's signature weapons. Tiberius preferred using a glaive, a curved blade with a spike on one side, at the end of a long pole. JT preferred using scythes that had been elongated upon request, dual-wielding to demonstrate to his brother how absurd it was to use a weapon that required two hands. But in the ten years they had been training JT had never been able to make much of an impression in that regard.

"I won't let go, Tie," JT remarked casually to Tiberius as he tugged on his scythes, trying to draw his brother's weapon in to knock it out of his hands.

"And neither will I. Have we reached an impasse yet _again?_" Tiberius finished his sentence with a grunt, tugging back with all his strength, freeing his weapon. He quickly pointed it at his brother's throat before he could defend himself.

"Pretty good. Maybe one day you'll be better than me," JT mused as the twins lowered their weapons and exited the gym.

"Perhaps, if I can find someone to train with while you're away at the Games," Tiberius replied. "It it has to be someone good, not Rhode or Jasper."

It had been agreed upon that JT would volunteer this year for the Games, and Tiberius would volunteer the next so that they could win back to back. The possibility of either one of them dying didn't really cross their minds.

"Fear not. Roughly one week's deprivation of battle won't make you weak," JT reassured his twin. "Although, if you really are worried about it, Hortensia's always around."

"True. Maybe I could severely injure her in an accident. Mom and Dad would be so happy," Tiberius remarked jokingly. JT shook his head.

"She doesn't deserve our wrath," he told his brother. Hortensia was their older sister; she had planned on volunteering but had had to back out at the last minute when it was discovered that her boyfriend Carnelian had made her pregnant. This excuse, while a legitimate one, did not make much of an impression on the Townsend household.

"But she's a lesser, nonetheless," Tiberius protested. "We retain our right to slit her throat when we wish, due to her abandonment of her duties," JT tried to stifle a grin. If Tiberius had said that to any other person, they would have probably been shocked or called the Peacekeepers, but JT knew Tiberius well enough to know that he would listen to him if he told him to restrain himself. He had tried not to grin because Tiberius' regard for the hierarchy was so…amusing. He took it far too seriously. Even though JT was just 12 minutes older, it was times like this when Tiberius firmly established his place as the younger brother, rash and narrow-minded.

"She's also our sister," JT pointed out. "She merely had a moment of cowardice…or Carnelian succumbed to lustful desires," JT added with a snicker. "Either way, she's worthy of respect, and I consider her an equal to us."

"Very well," Tiberius agreed. The twins were going to continue their conversation on their return trip home when they both felt a hand on their respective shoulders.

"You boys can't leave just yet," a feminine voice whispered. Both boys turned to face the girl, not knowing she would be here today. If they had they certainly would have sought her out.

"Chryssie!" Tiberius cried on impulse.

"Your timing is as impeccable as ever," JT told her, "But must you meet both of us at once?"

"Why have one guy when I can have _two?_" Chrysoberyl Ainsworth asked her lovers. The twins were simultaneously dating her, and for her part it was great to have 2 hot guys lusting after her instead of one. And since they looked so much alike it was as if they were just clones of each other, rather than two separate people. The twins laughed in response, kissing their shared girlfriend on opposite cheeks.

"So why do you want us to stay?" JT asked. "This isn't exactly a romantic location."

"No, I just came to tell you that Jasper and Rhode want to spar with you both. They already sparred with each other," she told them.

To both of them Chryssie was neither an equal nor a better, but in a class all of her own. She was worth putting up on a pedestal, cut out from the rest because of her job and sensibility. It was no secret that she only came here to see them, but the twins didn't mind; her presence spurred them on to train harder, so they could show her their prowess in battle—she preferred ability over appearance.

"Sure thing," Tiberius said, walking off back into the interior of the gym, where he could see Rhode waving at him. JT glanced at Jasper and nodded briefly. He wanted to say just a few more words to Chryssie before sparring.

"Sometimes I worry about him," JT told her, referring to Tiberius.

"Why? He's as good as you are."

"He's also tenacious. Too much, in fact."

Tiberius tried not to hear his brother's worrisome remarks by unleashing a slew of insults at his sparring partner. Rhode Alvarez was patient and resilient enough, never phased when people said a negative word at him. Words were harmless, but weapons hurt. And Tiberius hoped to remember this, too.

"You fucking loser," Tiberius muttered to Rhode as they fought. "I have the hottest woman in the District, the mayor's daughter, right in my pants. And what do you have? Nothing. Your kind isn't worth the mud on my shoes. You'll never be equal to me!" Rhode laughed, the movements with his blade becoming more fierce. It was sort of signal; when Tiberius insulted Rhode, it was a sign that he needed to do a bit better to match his movements, for both of their benefit as they sparred. Rhode was particularly amused by the phrase "Your kind": having tan skin and a decidedly Hispanic surname seemed to indicate that Tiberius meant it in an ambiguously racist way. Well, he didn't really "mean" it, but it was still a good indicator that Tiberius had something on his mind.

"Feelin' feisty today, eh? JT got you down?" Rhode asked.

"A little. He thinks I can't beat him. And now he's probably telling Chryssie something about me."

"Like what?"

"Most likely his concerns over me."

"Haven't you learned anything from me?" Rhode asked, chuckling.

"I know, I know—words will never harm me," Tiberius repeated his friend's mantra.

"Memorize it, bro! It's just five little words."

Minutes later Tiberius had defeated Rhode like he usually did. Sparring with Rhode made him feel better because he always won. If only it was like that with JT.

"Oh, no, I lose. Now I'm sad," Rhode said sarcastically. "Now go mess with Jasper, JT's givin' him hell."

"Very well, then," Tiberius said, going over to where JT and Jasper were sparring. Jasper Chase had come in here not to train for the Games but as a Peacekeeper, and given his parents' wealth he would probably have his wish granted. Jasper was much less talkative then Tiberius, and he didn't say a word until their sparring match was over and Tiberius had once again proved himself superior.

"I really hope you never cause any trouble for me one day," Jasper remarked. "Hopefully the Victor's Village won't be on my beat."

"I doubt it. The worst thing I'd do is be in the Hunger Games, and murders in the Hunger Games don't count," Tiberius pointed out.

After sparring with their associates—lessers, but agreeable ones, the twins had concluded long a while back—JT and Tiberius returned home.

"Reaping is tomorrow," their mother Hema reminded the twins as they got home. Glancing at the twins, she looked back and forth at them to determine which one was JT. It only took a few seconds, but even after years of having raised them it pained her to not be able to instantly tell them apart. Even Chrysoberyl could do that. But they understood; as their mother she was most certainly a better, and therefore not held at fault for any flaws. She was usually an amicable woman, running the weapons factory in the Nut with their father, Solarus, but Hortensia's pregnancy several years ago had shown just how badly she wanted a Victor child. She still had never forgiven her, and she had made it known by ranting about for days. Solarus had been angry too, but he showed it by keeping silent for around the same period of time.

"We remember," Tiberius told her. She gave first JT a hug, and then him.

"I can't wait for us to move out of this place! Make sure you're ruthless in the arena!" she reassured JT. "Tiberius, learn from your brother when he goes in there. Remember the responsibility you both have!" she was referring to Hortensia, obviously, and how the twins would have to make up for her lack of being in the Games.

"Don't worry, mother, we will both win. And then we'll all be rich beyond our wildest dreams," JT told her.

"And we'll make sure that Hortensia sees none of it!" Tiberius added, his brother glancing at him with jealousy. Why hadn't he thought to say that?

But no matter. Tomorrow he would no longer have to compete with his brother for anything. But without JT's restraint, how long could he keep himself from tearing away at…_her?_

The next morning was reaping day, and although Tiberius knew he wasn't going to the Games he dressed accordingly, putting on a dark green shirt with buttons, and a black vest and pants. Chryssie would be there, so he could at least look nice for her sake. And it would be the last time to see his brother before he went off to the Games.

Tiberius had never been apart from his brother for more than a few days before, so the thought of being alone without him troubled him. But with all the social masks he had put on—a polite boy in front of betters, an average Career among equals, and a force that invoked fear in lesser—no one would have been able to tell. But JT still knew.

"I promise I won't be gone long," JT reassured him as they walked to where the reapings would be held this year. "Surely you can last without me for just a little while. And you'll have Chryssie all to yourself." Tiberius smiled, understanding the implications of what JT had said.

"That sounds great. But I still feel like I'll lose a lot of training experience while you're away," Tiberius insisted. JT chuckled.

"And you'll miss me, too, but you feel that saying it isn't appropriate."

"…Yeah."

At the reapings District 2's escort, a hideous woman in a rainbow-colored mesh skirt, thigh-high boots, and spots of paint all over where her freckles once were, took her sweet time sifting through the names in the girls' bowl. The twins understood that this meant a volunteer had been determined for this year among the Career girls, although such a rule was never explicitly spoken of. And when the escort finally withdrew a name, Tiberius expected it to be some ordinary young woman that he knew from the Academy with no lasting impact on him.

But then a name was uttered: "Steeliea Sharpe!"

Rage surged through Tiberius' body as his blood boiled, his hands vibrating in anger. _She _was to be the tribute?! _Her?! _She was too lenient! It was all an act she pulled, she was far too soft! And his punishment against her hadn't affected her at all. It had given her a physical scar, but it was only skin-deep. Her mind had been disgustingly steadfast. She could not be the tribute! Surely someone else would volunteer…but no one did.

_Anyone but her,_ Tiberius pleaded inside his mind. Steele Sharpe was the most revolting "Career" he knew, and her being the tribute was utter blasphemy to the Capitol, and not to mention to the Games themselves. In terms of strength and combat abilities, Steele was nominally an equal, but her sympathies made Tiberius wish he could place her lower. But when they had sparred—it was only once, but it left its mark on both of them—the only way Tiberius could think of her was as a sort of anti-him, an anti-Career. His rival, ideologically opposed to him and bent on destroying Careers like him. It was practically his duty as a Career to put her in her place, to make her realize that to be a Career, one had no sympathies, no life outside of the Academy and training. Steele had dared to peek outside, she had dared to see beyond this. She had blasphemed the Games with her thoughts. She could not win, or else Careers all over Panem could go extinct. There was no telling what a girl with her ideals could do in the arena.

"Calm yourself," JT whispered, trying to ease his brother with a pat on his back. "I know you hate her, and I can understand why. Don't worry. I'll dispose of her for you."

"No," Tiberius whispered as the escort cried in an avian voice that she was going to select a boys' name. "I have to do it. She is my rival, my enemy. Not yours. Only _I_ should extinguish her."

"Do you realize how idiotic you sound-?"

"I VOLUNTEER!" Tiberius cried before name could even be uttered. He stepped up to the stage, facing this wretched enemy. Their eyes locked, their differently-hued blue eyes meeting each other's. Seconds passed in silence. Tiberius wanted Steele to understand the consequences of allowing herself to be reaped.

"Your tributes, District 2!" screeched the escort, the two not glancing away from each other. To any observer, it would look as if they were trying to say their goodbyes to each other, or trying in vain to communicate that they felt sorry for each other for being in the Games. But Steele knew very well what Tiberius was telling her.

_I will kill you. I will kill you because of your apostasy from the Career lifestyle. I will kill you for your secret loathing of the Capitol. I will kill you for daring to believe that there is hope for you outside of being a Career. I will kill you for your rebellious thoughts. I will kill you for rejecting the power bestowed upon you by your wise parents and headmaster. And everyone will know just how wretched and unworthy you are of the title of Career. And I will show them how futile it is to break away from the blessings the Capitol has given you. And if you kill me, I win because then you would be like me._

And Steele, through her gaze, was saying in reply:

_And I will show them how the "blessings of the Capitol" have ruined men like you. And if you kill me, I win because then you will be seen for what you are._

**AN: A big thank-you to Atashi Tesu and iluvhungergames, respectively, for Tiberius Townsend and Steele Sharpe. I can't wait to develop these two and their bitter rivalry!**

**If you were wondering why you didn't get to see much of Steele, don't worry, I'll get to that. It's just that her backstory, when added to Tiberius', was too complicated to sum up in one reapings chapter. We'll see her side of the story when we get to her POV (this chapter was mostly in Tiberius').**

**I'm sorry if you don't like that I'm going a bit out of order here; I just feel that it was better to start with the 2 rivals rather than District 1 (although I'll probably do them next). Plus I want to get started with introducing the tributes, even though I don't technically have them all yet.**

**Also, I've got a cold, so if my writing seems to have dropped in quality, I apologize.**

**Trivia question: Which of these fanfic episodes for Sym-Bionic Titan does not feature a giant monster at some point?**

**Battleship Mutrad**

**Entangled in Foes**

**Partial Truth**

**Love Triangles**


	6. District 1 reapings--Perfection's price

District 1 reapings—Perfection has a price

Dorea Calis shut the book she had been reading, one that explained how a particle accelerator functioned. Not that she would ever have to know, but the subject was fascinating anyway. She enjoyed gaining knowledge that could be practical in some way or another, even if she could never foresee a time in which she'd need it.

After reading she joined her parents at the dinner table without having to be called in, her mother smiling at her with pride in her eyes. Her father seemed to be proud of her, too, but his smile was more subtle.

"What is it?" Dorea asked. "I can tell by the lavish food and proud looks that something is up."

"The Academy has selected _you_ as our District's female volunteer, Dorea!" Her mother Mora cried happily, standing up to hug her, the diamonds on her earrings sparkling. Dorea could feel her mother's pearl necklace against her chest as they hugged. _Always trying to look so elegant, mother,_ Dorea thought. _Was there ever a time when you weren't?_

Dorea looked at her father, Kont, from behind Mora's shoulder and wondered at the fact that she and him looked absolutely nothing alike. She would have let her mind linger on the subject if it weren't for the initial shock of being told that she was guaranteed to be in the Hunger Games, no buts about it.

"You didn't do anything to make them pick me, did you?" Dorea asked her parents, trying to hide her anxiety.

"Of course not, sweetheart," Kont reassured her. "It was only through your own efforts that you're going to the Games. We didn't have to do anything to let the Academy realize how brilliant you are." Although she considered herself an excellent analyst of people, Dorea couldn't tell what sort of tone her father was trying to use. But it was clearly not entirely positive.

"Well…thanks for being proud of me!" Dorea told her parents as they sat and ate what was to be her last meal with her family in silence. After eating, Dorea left the house.

"Where are you going, darling?" Mora asked, still in a lighthearted mood. _Perhaps if she was the one who was being told to volunteer against her will, _Dorea thought, _then maybe she wouldn't be feeling so giddy._

"Going out to say goodbye to my friends," Dorea replied honestly. There was no point in disguising her intentions, and if her parents forbade her from seeing them, she would simply have to defy them.

"Try and be back before dark!" Mora cautioned. Dorea nodded and headed outside, not bothering to look at the last sunset she would see in District 1. There were a few more sunsets at the Capitol, after all.

She first went to Darath's house. Darath had been her friend since childhood, and they shared a passion for reading as many fact-rich books as they could get their hands on. And living in District 1 guaranteed that there would be at least a few. Dorea being the daughter of the mayor certainly didn't hinder this, either.

"They made you volunteer?! What the hell?!" Darath said, trying poorly to conceal the shock and sorrow in her voice. In just a day she would lose her best friend for what seemed to her like no reason at all. "Your parents got all bitchy all of sudden. Seriously, Dor, what's wrong with them? And to think your mom always seemed so nice. Your dad's a bit more aloof, though, but I wouldn't expect him to arrange for something like that, either! Why did they do it?!"

Dorea gave her friend a hug, blinking back tears. "It's not their fault, Da. They claimed they had nothing to do with it, and I believe them. If anything, I brought this on myself. I pushed myself too hard. I trained too vigorously, and let everyone know just how smart I intended to make myself be in school. If anything, the Academy picked me because I was the perfect fit. They think I'm likely to win."

"Well, what if you told them they were wrong?" Darath asked, hoping desperately that her suggestion would work.

"No. There's nothing I can do. In a way, I'll be a lot like most of the other tributes; just there against my will," Dorea told her. Then with a few sobs, she added, "Except I could have stopped myself."

"No, don't say that," Darath said, trying to dry her eyes. "If they picked you because they think you're going to win, then the best thing to do is _show _them that you can! If your parents secretly want you dead, this is your chance to prove them wrong!"

"Thanks for the encouragement, but I don't think they want me dead," Dorea said. "They want me to do my best. And if that's what they want, then crying about it won't increase my chances of survival. I've got to keep a level head and be observant."

"So basically, Dor, you're going to be yourself?" Darath concluded. "That's so clichéd…but brilliant!"

"Yes, it is, but I'll add a little more. All that training has probably honed my muscles, although I'm not like my mom and have to look in a mirror every 20 seconds to make myself feel better." Darath laughed.

"So you'll be playing a sexy angle, then?"

"Smart and sexy. I can be both."

"Sounds like a plan to me. I'll bet Jet would love it!"

"I'll go ask him right now."

"Heh, heh. See you around, Dor! No, wait, I won't but…you'll be coming back! I know you will!"

After meeting with Darath Dorea went to Jet's house, finding that his parents weren't home and the door was unlocked. Jet was staring at the ceiling in his room, lying on his bed, evidently looking distraught.

"Da called me. I don't believe this," Jet muttered. "How could they do this to you?"

"Like I told her, it's all my fault, really," Dorea explained, going to sit beside him. The two of them couldn't be considered "dating" or "in love" by any means, but they did spend as many nights together as they could. They had met at a party her father had thrown for his associates, and Jet, as the child of one of these associates, had to tag along. They had bonded almost instantly.

"I'll most likely be back," Dorea reassured Jet. "But in case I'm not, let's make our last night perfect."

"I don't know if it can be," Jet replied, "If you'll be going away."

"It won't be long, I promise. I'll serve my time, and I'll pay my punishment."

"Who knew being smart was a punishment?" Jet mused. Dorea correct him by placing a hand on his chest as he lay there.

"Smart and _sexy,_ and don't you forget."

"How could I ever?"

. . . . .

Reaping day in District 1 was like any other for Dorea, aside from the fact that she was volunteering. Dorea wore a black and green dress selected by her mother, and she made sure to wear her green pendant around her neck. It was the only item that she allowed her mother to force her to wear that hinted at her family's status and wealth.

When all the teens were settled, Dorea watched as her father read the treaty of treason. She had heard it so many times that she had it memorized, even writing a paper for school giving commentary on it once.

_Let it be known that on this day the Rebellion against the benevolence of the Capitol by the Districts ended. As punishment for their defiance of the Capitol's form of government, the Districts shall henceforth be required to send to them a male and female individual between 12 and 18 years of age for the Hunger Games, a television show in which all participants must battle to the death until one of the 24 emerges victorious. These Games are to mark the fact that the Capitol has control over the children of the Districts and is free to exercise its sovereignty over them._

_Whether they are orphans from 12 or the daughters of mayors from 1,_ Dorea thought to herself as her father finished the treaty.

A Capitolite woman who had dyed her hair purple and her lips green strode up to the stage to pick out a name from the reaping ball, not that it was needed.

"For the girls…"

"I volunteer," Dorea said without raising her voice. She saw no need.

"Aren't you the mayor's daughter?" the escort asked.

"Yes, I am," Dorea replied simply. Was this escort harboring some outrage at the Games, perhaps?

"What a wonderful representative for your District you shall be!" the woman cried, going so far as to clap her hands at her own statement. _No_, Dorea thought, _she is just an ordinary Capitol woman. _

"Now for the boys," she added, drawing a name from the ball. Again, unnecessary due to the—

"I'll volunteer!" cried a young man in a chipper tone. Dorea smiled with amusement as walked to the stage, accompanied by the sounds of girls more naïve than herself squealing with shock and delight in this man's presence. He wore a generic suit and tie, but apparently his face recognizable to his fans.

"And you are?" the escort said, apparently not seduced by this young man. Perhaps she had seen so many like him before.

"Rex Adamas, at your service!" he cried in a tone that was utterly revolting to Dorea. She already knew his type: a prideful, multi-talented young man that fancied himself as the most beautiful in the world. And judging from his fangirls, perhaps it was true.

She would not have to put him in his place, Dorea realized, most likely because someone else would do it for her. He had no practical knowledge save for how to butcher a defenseless child, and evidently no brains. Rex was not a threat, not in the least, unless she somehow got on his bad side. If his feeble brain could realize that she found him annoying, he might lash out. And with a legion of potential fans in the Capitol, they could send him dozens of sponsor gifts if they wished. Dorea was glad that she wasn't one of those people who needed to associate with allies in order to survive, although as a Career she would most likely be joining the Career pack, not that she needed to. She shook hands with Rex, paying no heed to his strong grip or malicious grin.

Brains and a level head always triumphed over brawn and hubris.

**AN: I big thanks to platrium and LokiThisIsMadness for submitting Rex and Dorea, respectively. I've decided that for the reapings I'm going to try and go over only one tribute instead of both, but don't worry, I'll get to everyone eventually. Some tributes have a lot to them, while others have a bit less, and for those that had more I wanted to showcase as much as possible.**

**In regards to tribute submissions, I have even less room now. Now all I need left are a boy from 3, 7, 8, and 9. NO GIRLS ALLOWED! (lol) All other spots are closed due to people submitting really good tributes.**

**As for which District I should do next, I haven't decided yet.**

**Trivia question: What color is Meenah's blood?**

**Pink**

**Fuchsia**

**Magenta**

**Maroon**


	7. District 4 reapings--Drowning in myself

District 4 reapings—Drowning in myself

Clyde Morrissey returned home from training to find a common sight—his mother slapping his father with as much force as she could.

"SO YOU TURNED _DOWN _THE PROMOTION?! WHAT KIND OF IGNORANT, SELFISH, AND DOWNRIGHT _IDIOTIC _MOVE WAS THAT?!" Ivette Morrissey screamed as she wrapped her hands around Drew, his father's throat. Ivette gave Drew time to speak, clearly having difficulty in restraining herself from strangling her own husband.

"I just…it was not a good time, and If I accepted, we would be taken to another part of the District. It would be easier for Clyde to get to the Academy from there, but…"

"BUT _WHAT?!"_ Ivette screeched. "YOU THOUGHT THAT MAYBE WE DIDN'T _NEED _THE MONEY?! YOU THOUGHT THAT THIS PLACE WAS TOO _NICE_ TO LEAVE?"

"I thought you'd be mad if I randomly announced to you that we were moving," Drew squeaked.

"WELL, YOU THOUGHT WRONG!" Ivette cried. Finally lowering her voice, she added, "That's what I hate about you, Drew. You don't think clearly. Not like Clyde. He's a smart kid, and he'll make a good Career. Won't you, honey?" Clyde scowled as his mother turned to him.

"Let him go, mom. You're scaring him." Ivette released her grip, and Drew scurried away.

"Why can't dad just be strong?" Clyde wondered aloud. His mother nodded.

"He's just a docile type. But perfect for me because he'd never leave. He gave me what I wanted, and that was you. And now he's outlived his usefulness. Too bad he can't go in the Games."

"Oh, that's right. Reaping day's tomorrow, isn't it?" Clyde noted. "You…wouldn't mind if I volunteered, would you?" Ivette smiled, but her eyes watered.

"Well…I certainly wouldn't want to stop you. You are, after all, a powerful and skilled Career," she said. Clyde winced at her flattery. This sort of thing had gone for almost his entire life, and it had shaped his whole outlook on things. With just a day until freedom—and with her consent, too-why did she have to do this?

"Thanks, but I'm probably not," Clyde replied. "I don't know a lot about surviving, I'm really not good with working with alliances, and an outlying District tribute could kill me if they caught me off guard." Ivette giggled.

"No, they couldn't! But, in case they could…"

_Here it comes, _Clyde thought with a gulp.

"Then I think you should be aware of all of your little flaws. If you're truly as pathetic as you say you are, then it's best to strive for perfection, not stopping until every insecurity, every worry, and every weakness is covered so that it can't be exploited. Do you understand me? You must be PERFECT, Clyde. Anything less could get you killed in the arena."

"Yeah, I get it," Clyde said, nodding and heading to his sister Reah's room.

His mother usually said things like that, albeit repackaged or rephrased in some way, and as much as it annoyed him, her words stuck. He couldn't see any way _not_ to try and be perfect, to _not _reach standards that seemed impossible for him.

_Why did you point out your flaws?_ He thought to himself.

_Because they're there. I was just being honest._

_No, you were showing weakness and imperfect. Outwardly, you are perfect, just as you should be. Your mother is right to be proud of you._

_Then why am I arguing with myself?_

_That is because you are only outwardly perfect. Inwardly, you are flawed. But your mother does not see that. No one does. Hide your inner failure, don't show it. You will get no sympathy._

Clyde tended to have these arguments with himself a lot. It wasn't schizophrenia or anything like that; instead of arguing with a voice in his head he simply argued with his own thoughts. He hated it doing it so often, but every time he did or said something his regrets on his past actions would bother him, and something in him would think that whatever he had done or said was wrong. Maybe this would go away when the Games started; no one would be demanding perfection out of him there. He knocked on the door to Reah's room, and she answered.

"Is mom bothering you? Don't worry about her, she's only trying to tell you what she thinks is best. And personally, I think she's right."

"I was hoping for a second opinion," Clyde replied, disappointed that his sister was no help in solving his troubled mind.

"Well, if you're having some trouble, you can talk to me about it. You know I still love you regardless of how perfect you are—or aren't."

"Thanks, Reah. I can assure you that no matter what I say…I'm as good enough as a Career as I need to be."

_And an arrogant liar, at that. Are you sure you're from 4 and not actually a Capitolite?!_

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine in the Games," Reah said, giving her brother a hug. "But do you have to go? I'd be all alone without you." Clyde knew what she meant. Technically she'd still have their parents, but he doubted that she wanted to put up with seeing her father being abused anymore.

"I wish I could stay, but I can't," Clyde replied. "I have to volunteer eventually, to make them happy. And you can't do it yet because you're not ready. Plus," he added with a whisper, "I want to get out of here."

"It's really not so bad, Clyde. Can't you stay for just one more year?" she pleaded.

"I'm sorry," Clyde said, leaving the room.

"Where are you going?" Reah asked.

"To see Beverly," Clyde replied. Reah nodded in understanding. Beverly was Clyde's girlfriend, and their relationship didn't get much further than them using each other as sexual partners to forget about the stresses of life.

"Oh. Well…see you tomorrow," Reah called out. Clyde usually didn't get home until after midnight when he went to see Beverly.

So off Clyde went, his mother assuming that he just went off to go train some more. Of course, even if she knew she probably wouldn't mind, but Clyde was uncomfortable with her knowing about Beverly. On his way to her house he stopped at the Career Academy one last time to train at the gym just a bit more. It might help to review everything before going, after all.

To his surprise he found only one other person in there, a girl of about 16 with black hair and a typical athletic Career body.

"Hey," she called out in a voice that seemed way too timid to belong to a Career. She had better not have a crush on him, Clyde hoped. But then she went back to jabbing a dummy with her trident, so it seemed like she didn't. Clyde nodded and headed over to the weapons rack to get a cutlass. Hopefully he could master this thing…

"So, are your parents making you volunteer, too?" the girl asked. Clyde rolled his eyes without looking at her. He really didn't want to talk, and he wasn't one for making friends with every person he met. But since this was his last day in 4, he figured he might as well make some small talk.

"No. I'm doing it get out of here," he said honestly.

_Why are you telling this stranger your story? She doesn't need to know it._

_Because I'm tired of making everyone think I'm perfect._

"Huh. Well, with your skills I bet you'd do fine anyway! Maybe I could, too," the girl said, her voice wavering as if she wasn't sure. Clyde smiled in sympathy. She was like him, in some way; she tried her best to look perfect, but she knew inside of her that she was not. But what was her flaw? He couldn't see anything wrong with her form or attack pattern. She was just an ordinary Career.

Or maybe all District 4 Careers had self-esteem issues. He wouldn't have known; he rarely interacted with them anyway. He thought about that some more as they both worked on their skills in silence, away from each other.

"You don't have to compare yourself to me," Clyde told her when he was done. "But if you did, you'd see that I'm not as great as I seem." He felt comfortable saying that because this girl was a stranger, and chances are he would never see her again. She said she was going to volunteer, but in a Career district like 4, everyone said that. Who was to say that she would chicken out, and it would be someone else?

And with that he went over to see Beverly, hoping to forget things for a while.

. . . . .

Thaleia Starling was a bit like Clyde. But her flaw wasn't embedded in low self-esteem or a constant drive to reach perfection. Her parents weren't meek or cruel like Clyde's father and mother, respectively, and in most senses she could be seen as a normal Career. But she had her own obstacles, one of them being too humiliating to speak about. She couldn't open up about it like Clyde, because instead of being comforted with understanding she'd just get laughed at.

Her fear wasn't rejection, or being alone, or having to meet the Careers from the other Districts and work with them even if they clearly wanted nothing more than to slit her throat.

Thaleia was afraid of the most simple thing in the world, something that no one in 4 could dare admit to being afraid of. But maybe, on her last day in the District, as she had decided today would be, she could overcome it.

After training she walked to the coast, the gray, grimy waters and dirty sand looking like the most ordinary things in the world to her. Just because District 4 was on the sea didn't mean that it was beautiful because of it, although Thaleia would understand if people elsewhere in Panem thought so. Looking out at the shadowy void of waves, Thaleia took a deep breath and jumped in.

The water surrounded her, and she kept her eyes closed, thinking that maybe if she didn't open them she wouldn't have to worry about _that _day. But keeping them shut, she also knew, left her helpless in the void, unable to tell which way the shore was, although if she could keep her wits about her she could remember.

Thaleia tried to move her limbs to propel herself upward, doing her best not to let panic overtake her as she felt herself sinking.

_Just keep moving up, just move your arms and legs in tandem and boost yourself upwards. Go up, go up…_

But then the panic set in. After a few strokes, she wasn't at the surface. The water was too deep! She couldn't let herself sink. She had to get out faster, or her lungs would burst.

_You're not trapped. You can get out. There is no net. You can get out. Just don't panic._

But it was hopeless for her to lie to herself. Thaleia flailed her limbs in the water, still completely submerged. Why couldn't she surface? There was nothing blocking her! Her lungs needed the air, she had to get out!

But she couldn't. The water was all around her, and she couldn't get out in time. The water was going to kill her, and she was trapped, not by a net or some physical obstacle, but because she was too scared. She was letting the ocean win. She was letting it take her.

_No. It already had me once. It can't have me again!_

By some miracle, Thaleia's panicked brain remembered that the shore was behind her, and she drifted that way, trying to hold her lungs together and not let them burst. She could hold her breath for only a little longer, all she had to do was let the waves take her back, and work with them to push herself to shore. They wanted her out as much as she did.

Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, she gasped and crawled on the sand, away from the waves, breathing heavily once it was all over. At least she had swallowed any seawater like before. She was getting better. No one had to come at help her to save her from drowning. She could do it herself.

But she was still terrified of the water. Nothing could change that.

. . . . .

Reaping day arrived, and a man whose skin and clothes were all blue walked up on the stage.

"The male tribute will be…" he began in a hammy voice. But he got no further before Clyde walked up on the stage.

"Clyde Morrissey." The escort seemed a bit flustered by this (he had wanted to make things more dramatic), but he moved on to the girls when he saw that no other boy wished to challenge Clyde.

Before he could even mention the female tribute or touch the reaping ball several girls tried to approach the stage. It became a mad free for all, with most of the less aggressive girls backing away while the defiant ones struggled in vain to climb up to the stage before being pulled back. The escort grinned with glee. This usually only happened in 1 or 2, but 4? Wow!

Clyde looked at the mass of girls with contempt. He knew it wasn't him that made them all want to be volunteers; it was just their desire to be the perfect fighter and win, and their own obnoxious arrogance, that made them act insane at this specific moment. Clyde glared at them. If he were a Capitolite, he probably would be lamenting all the lovely outfits being ruined by this scuffle.

But then Clyde felt someone tap his hand from off of the stage, just to the side. He turned and saw the girl from yesterday at the gym. She was wearing a sky-blue dress and earrings to match. She smiled at him pleadingly, knowing fully well that he was under no obligation to take her to the Games with him. Clyde offered her his hand, not bothering to smile or look up.

She needed to be in the Games with him. Not because he liked her because he knew her, but only because it just seemed so right. Out of all the people here, Clyde found that she was one of the few he could respect, even if only a little bit.

"What's this?" the escort cried in surprise as Clyde helped the girl up.

"My _name _is Thaleia Starling," the girl told him.

"And I think she'd be the perfect volunteer," Clyde added.

_How very fitting. A girl that you opened up to becomes your target in the Games._

_What do you mean? She's not a threat. I could beat her if I want to._

_That's not how she sees it. She thinks she's stronger than you. And she smiles more. She'll be more popular, and you know it._

_You just signed your own death warrant._

What Clyde didn't know was that Thaleia was thinking the same thing.

**AN: I decided to a little bit of both POVs in this chapter, since I felt like I could have time to tell about both of these characters just a little bit, whereas the other 2 districts had 1 character with so much personality that I had to get in as much as I could. Again, though, everyone will get a POV.**

**Thanks to ImmyRose and xxbookwormockingjayxx for Clyde and Thaleia, respectively. For the record, all I did to decide to do District 4 next was just roll some dice. I'll be doing that from now on to decide which District to do next, although I can't do 3, 7, 8, and 9 yet since I don't have a boy for any of those Districts.**

**Those are the only spots left (yes, the girl from 12 is taken), so I really need these last 4 tributes!**

**Trivia question: Which of these characters has gills?**

**Hella Jeff**

**Octus**

**Bender**

**Cronus**


	8. District 5--Unbroken and shattering

District 5 reapings—Unbroken and shattering

Riley Covington would have loved living in District 5 if it weren't for the Games. And yet, she couldn't imagine what she would be like if they didn't exist. They had irreversibly shaped her lifestyle and her personality. And she hadn't even been reaped!

And they were the reason she was here in this dingy old warehouse, trying to punch a guy in the face.

The "training center" of District 5 had been established by her and a few strong-armed kickboxers just a few years ago. It was little more than a warehouse with some makeshift equipment. Knives tied to poles substituted for swords and spears, milk jugs filled with sand took the place of weights, and all of the practice dummies were just wooden mannequins or piles of sandbags leaning against a wall. The only things that could be considered adequate in the facility were the boxing gloves and ring where hand-to-hand combat was practiced.

"You've been doin' pretty good," Riley's sparring partner told her. "But it's not good enough for the Games."

"Like you're any better?" Riley taunted as she ducked to avoid a punch. "You couldn't knock out a hick from 12 even if their arms got chopped off." Her sparring partner tried to deliver a leg sweep to knock her off her feet for that remark, but it was just what Riley had been waiting for. She leapt backwards just a bit to avoid a kick from his leg, and before he realized he had missed Riley punched him in the face, her knuckles hitting the bridge of his nose. The boy called a timeout to nurse his wound, hoping his nose wouldn't bleed again like it had when Riley had hit there.

"Oooh, man…you got me good," he said as took off his boxing gloves. Riley snorted in amusement.

"Really? You're beat? Pussy!" The boy grinned.

"Yeah. I'm just that weak. Or you're just that strong." Riley placed a hand on her chest to pretend to be flattered.

"Oh, why, thank you! No one's ever told me _that _before."

"No, it's true! You're tough!"

"Heh, yeah. I get your strategy, you just want to inflate my ego until my head blows up! Good luck, pal!" Riley said as they exited the ring. Her sparring partner laughed, and they parted ways.

Riley's goal in life wasn't to win the Hunger Games or give the Capitol the finger (although she had good reason to do that). Instead it was to be the first Career of her District, should she ever be reaped. On the slight chance it happened she could prove to the Capitol and the Career Districts that just because you weren't from 1, 2, or 4 didn't mean you couldn't hold your own in a fight. Riley didn't consider it to be rebellious for a non-Career District tribute to train herself like a Career, but if someone higher up in the Capitol did think that, then she guessed she was one.

In the past, Riley had been a rambunctious child that failed to see the consequences of her actions, usually consisting of sneaking out at night past the peacekeeper-prescribed curfew or tossing a rock at the head of a peacekeeper (who was usually protected by a helmet, so no harm done, right?) but after the 79th Hunger Games reaping day, she learned that it was best not to be like that.

On that tragic and disturbing day, her older brother Cornelius had been reaped. Riley remembered waving goodbye to Cornelius as he left that day—she herself had been 11 so she had stayed at home with her younger siblings. But instead of going to the square, Cornelius had disappeared, apparently having left the District for parts unknown.

Riley remembered hearing her brother's name being spoken on TV. The awkward silence when no one approached the stage. The way the escort had used good judgment and remarked, "Must be dead," and drawn another name as if her brother's absence meant little.

Minutes later after the rest of the family had returned home, panicked at the idea that a Covington was missing. They hadn't been alarmed so much at the idea that he had tried to escape reaping so much as they had been at the fact that their boy was missing, and what the Capitol would do to him if they found him.

And who could forget when the door broke down and the Peacekeepers swarmed in, questioning everyone and searching every part of the house to see if they had been hiding Cornelius? The shock, the fear, the tears…all of it had changed Riley.

Cornelius, as far as her family knew, had never been found. He was most likely an Avox now, probably a butler for some Capitol snob. But since no one knew for sure Riley couldn't hold a serious grudge against the people that had made her brother escape. It was more in her nature to make some joke about it, even if it was just one in she made in her head that no one else would ever get to hear.

After Cornelius' disappearance, Riley had realized that being reaped, should it happen to you, was inescapable. It was no use running away. Why not give yourself a chance at winning instead of surrendering to your fate?

Riley's 2 friends didn't see it that way, but they were certainly grateful to have a friend that could defend them. When Riley walked outside the warehouse/training center she found them waiting for her.

"How was it?" Octavia asked. "I can tell from that look on your face that something good happened." She was the brains of the group, what with her advanced knowledge of nuclear science in general and her drive to get a degree in that subject. The numerous industrial buildings in District 5—some of which happened to be nuclear power plants—only accelerated her interest. Fear of the Hunger Games had never seemed to register to her, but Riley figured that was just because she hadn't had anyone close to her getting reaped.

"Eh, you know. The usual. Punched a guy in the bridge of his nose and he backed down."

"Ha ha, what a wimp!" Alastair laughed. He and Riley had met after she had had to defend him from some jerks that took advantage of his lack of fighting abilities. They had stayed friends because she gave him the protection he usually needed—and she thought he was kind of cute, not that he was completely unaware of that.

"I know, right? I called him a pussy and then he kept saying how awesome I was."

"I don't blame him, you _are _awesome!" Alastair replied. Riley grabbed him by the shirt collar.

"Don't you start with me, mister, unless you'd like to get a free fist!" she smiled at him to show that he wasn't serious. Alastair chuckled as she let him go, although Riley could see a brief flash of panic in his eyes. Maybe she had been a bit too rough.

"I don't understand you guys sometimes," Octavia said, shaking her head. "Maybe I should stick around after getting my degree in nuclear science and try and major in psychology."

"Why, so you can make us sit on couches and confess our secrets to you?" Riley challenged. They all laughed at kept having lighthearted conversation until they had to split off to go home. Octavia left them first, and when she was gone Alastair asked:

"You don't think you're actually going to get reaped, do you? Octavia said the odds of it being you are—"

"I know what Octavia would say. But I still want to be ready, in case the time comes that I have to prove myself," Riley told Alastair, all the usual snark and humor gone from her voice. Alastair gave her a hug, but Riley pushed him away.

"Don't get all soft on me now! You're acting like it's already happened! If you're gonna start the grieving process for me, you might as well hire yourself a prep team to help you through the motions!" The two laughed and went home.

At home, Riley greeted her family warmly.

"How'd it go?" her father Marius asked her as he danced over to greet her. And the dancing was quite literal; Marius loved to amuse the family by doing this sort of thing, and at 56 he showed no signs of stopping.

"Dad, if you were just 10 years younger, you'd make a great boxer. You're light on your feet; I really want to see you in the training center one day!"

"And if _you_ were ten years younger, you'd make a great kindergartener! But you don't see me wishing!" They both had a laugh and went inside.

Riley deliberately exaggerated the details of her fight to her family at dinner, and they all laughed at her obvious tall tale. The others then proceeded to indulge in some silly stories about their own days. As 1 of 7—previously 8—siblings, the Covington family was a lively bunch that didn't let past tragedies ruin their lives. After all, there was no telling if Cornelius was actually dead, so why mourn over someone who could be living a perfectly happy life?

Due to this incident, however, reaping day was hardly ever discussed at the dinner table, especially the night before. The next morning, however, was a bit different.

"Riley, wake up! Time to look pretty or embarrassing in front of the whole District!" Her sister Isidore cried. She was thoroughly convinced that no of them would ever be reaped since their family had never taken any tesserae, despite there being 10 of them and lot to provide for. They were comfortably middle class, and somehow the Covingtons made it work.

Riley put on a red velvet dress covered with beads that had sleeves for her arms, apparently made in a time when strapless dresses weren't as popular. Riley felt comfortable in it, and knowing that it had belonged to her long-deceased ancestors actually made her feel like it was a connection to them, to the past. When teenage girls forged power in the bodies to look sexy or just for fun, and not for survival. Riley wondered briefly if it was possible to miss a time that you had never actually experienced as she went with her family to the square.

. . . . .

Copper Nyrstar twiddled his fingers at the masses of people.

It wouldn't be long now. Just a few more days.

The escort, some man whose face and build were irrelevant—and yet his tuxedo was a glorious brown!—reached for a name in the reaping ball. Boys first, he had said. Whatever, so long as he got out of here quick.

"I volunteer!" he cried, and made his way to the stage.

_Walk, don't run. Be calm and courteous. Wait…_

"And who would you be, young man?" the escort asked.

"Copper Nyrstar. And I might I say that is an excellent suit you're wearing! Perfectly exemplifying Capitol taste, and a perfect shiny brown color!" the escort laughed, amused by the flattery, although he couldn't help but think it was out of place for this District.

"Then you'll love the Capitol, my friend! Now for the girls…Riley Covington!" Copper could see a muscled girl walk up to the stage, and she didn't seem to able to make up her mind as to how to react to being reaped.

Not that it mattered. Copper could see to her. Or at least he hoped he could. She looked pretty tough…

"So, my summons at last!" Riley said, trying to cheer up her grieving family with a bit of humor. "Well…you guys were great!" she told everyone present, particularly her family, who tried to show smiles to hide their tears.

"Your tributes, District 5! Let's hope the odds are in their favor!" he told the uninterested crowd.

"And let's hope your buttons and belt's odds are in yours!" Riley replied, sending laughter throughout the crowd. The escort looked a bit pissed, but even Copper giggled a bit. She was a funny one. He really hoped she would stay like this in the arena. Maybe then he could leave her alive to tell jokes.

Going to the Games…it was a dream come true for Copper to finally get to volunteer. But it was a dream best kept private, even though he couldn't do it for much longer.

The verdigris was beginning to show.

**AN: I swear, I picked 5 on accident! I flipped the dice, and it landed on 5 twice! Actually, it landed on 3 before that, but I couldn't do 3 since I don't have a District 3 boy. Still need one of those as well as a boy for 7, 8, and 9!**

**But no snarky people, no frank people, no observant silent types, no insane people, and nobody with a social mask. I have plenty of those already. Well, not the insane, but…you'll see. :)**

**Thanks to Julyette of Wonder and luvakatsuki3 for creating Riley and Copper, respectively.**

**Trivia question: Which of these trolls hypnotized his girlfriend and cut out his tongue to make himself mute?**

**Kurloz**

**Kankri**

**Mituna**

**Horuss**


	9. District 11 reapings:Dead and remembered

District 11 reapings—Dead and remembered

Pulse Fallow found death fascinating. Why everybody was so worried about it, she didn't know.

District 11 was a grim place, full of impoverished people that worked to give the Capitol food while they starved to death. But long ago the people here had discovered that if they all pitched in to help each other out, they could survive, even if only on the generosity of others. But sooner or later, they all died, usually more quickly than in other Districts. And no matter how kind they had been in life, and no matter how hard they had worked to provide for not just the Capitol but also for their community, Pulse couldn't make herself feel grieve; death was all right because it helped the family business. Which was where Pulse was right now.

"So, who's this one?" she asked her father Jack. They were both standing over a dead body that they had just removed from one of their hearses.

"Maple Sherwood," he told her. "Passed away at 75. Nice woman, had a lot of kids and grandkids. Funeral's next week, but the family insisted on cremation. Didn't want to be near a dead body or something." Pulse tried not to laugh.

"Why? She won't bite!"

"Not everyone feels the way you do about the dead, sweetie." Pulse and Jack took the body and gently placed it in the cremation chamber. The door was closed, and the body was burned. Pulse heard Jack say once that the process was more automated in other Districts, but whatever technological advancements occurred in Panem never made it to 11. That was fine, though; Pulse was ok with the work.

"So, we got anybody else?" Pulse asked. Jack shook his head.

"No, that's all for today. Now go home and see how your uncle is managing the finances. I have graves to tend to and wills to go over." In District 11, the legal and accounting professions were sparsely inhabited due to the population being too busy working to get sufficient education for these fields, not that they could if they wanted to. Therefore Jack also read wills and arranged funeral services rather than just strictly burials. Pulse rolled her eyes when he said all this, though, because she could tell he was making up an excuse.

"Can't you just be honest and say you don't want me around? It won't hurt my feelings, I promise!"

"Actually, I usually do need you around. It's just that I want to work alone right now."

"Fine, be that way. Can I stop at Aunt Silage's, though?"

"If you feel that you must, yes."

"Thanks! And dad, lighten up a little, will ya?" Pulse left before he could reply.

Before setting out for Aunt Silage's and Uncle Pith's, Pulse went to visit the graveyard. Since the crematorium doubled as a funeral home, it had one in the back. Sometimes the noise and smoke from the food-processing factories nearby (District 11 had a small amount of industry concentrated in one area) ruined the somber atmosphere for the mourners, but for the most part they were grateful, because this was the only funeral home for miles.

Pulse studied the flowers that had been placed on the graves, trying to tell what kinds they were. Some, she could tell, were visited almost daily, while others lay dead and forgotten, the only thing distinguishing them being their names.

But despite not ever knowing them in life, Pulse knew them in death. She had memorized who each gravestone belonged to and where their location was amongst the many without even having to look. When people came to pay their respects, she would ask them about the deceased, eager to know as much as she could. The fact that sometimes they came in tears didn't faze her at all, and the only one who could pry her off was her father, and even then with force. For the more obscure occupants of the graveyard, Pulse would make up stories about the deceased when they were no true ones to learn about. Howie Gozen was a pirate that raided ports in District 4 and fled to 11 to live out the rest of his days hidden away. Nancy Brown was the victor of the first Quarter Quell, and she defeated all the other tributes by shooting lightning at them (she had practiced witchcraft in secret before being reaped, you see). And Richard Whiteheart was a crazy man that thought he was a deer, so somebody shot him like he was game to put him out of his insanity. And then in the afterlife he got to be a big buck, just like he wanted to.

Pulse knew such stories she made up couldn't possibly be true, but to her people were so much more interesting in death than in life. Living people were a strange sort, full of personalities you could never begin to understand, and so hard to interact with. They were always offended so easily and were so opinionated on everything, and sometimes they just never shut up. But the dead never talked back, and with them there was only so much you had to learn about them before you knew everything. They never changed, and their personalities and life were in an almost literal sense set in stone. And if they weren't, then Pulse could see to that.

After checking on all the gravestones Pulse went to a rickety old shack, where her Aunt Silage lived. Silage was actually her mother, who had given her up for adoption because she had no patience for children. And although she had never admitted it, Pulse knew that her "aunt" regretted it deeply. But by then it was too late; Pulse belonged to Jack then.

"Good to see ya, dear! Did that old gravekeeper keep you?" She asked as Pulse gave her mom a hug.

"No, he actually let me out. Wanted to be alone, or something. You know how it is."

"Everybody just gets fed up with ya, Pulse," Silage remarked. "Just like they did with me. People are so weird and fickle, don't ya think?"

"You know it, auntie! They're always worried about you stepping on their toes." Silage chuckled.

"You and me, we're quite alike. 'Cept I don't go around the graves and make friends with the dead."

"And I don't sit around and be lazy at home in defeat!" The two laughed. Neither of them ever really took offense at one another, and that was what Pulse liked about her mom. What she didn't like was how she had given her away, but even that had been a blessing in disguise. Silage would have been a horrible mom.

"What can I say, Pulse? Some people just don't like changin'. Wouldn't want you changin', not ever."

"Thanks, mom."

After visiting with her pseudo-aunt Pulse returned home to find her uncle Pith inside, writing something in his business ledger. Pith managed the more financial aspects of the business for her father, who was grateful for all the help he could get.

"You're home early! Lemme guess, he kicked you out, didn't he?" Pith asked.

"Yeah, you know how he is."

"That's why I'm his partner. He can't manage this thing alone, as much as he probably wishes he could. It's cute, really."

Pulse chuckled. Jack and Pith were not only business partners but also romantic ones. Consequently, Jack was actually her uncle, not her father, and Pith had no genetic ties to her whatsoever. Jack had adopted Pulse after Silage had poorly decided to disown her, although he had never been able to provide emotional support. Pith was friendly too her, however, so as a whole the 3 did pretty well in raising her. There weren't many kids out there whose family more or less consisted of 2 dads and a mom, not that Pulse had ever felt a need to brag about it.

Most of the others in District 11 knew of their situation but never spoke of it publicly. They knew who Pulse was, they knew her mother, they knew her uncle was a "queer with some other fella that stays at home", but for the most part they considered the Fallows a part of their community, albeit a segment that mainly kept to themselves, not out of fear of prejudicial people but just because none of them were particularly comfortable with prolonged interaction with strangers. Even Jack only did what could be considered the minimum amount of interaction with strangers that was possible when one ran a funeral home that doubled as a crematorium. Pith tended to be a bit more willing to work with people, however, so he made up for the rest of the Fallows' lack of sociability.

"Yeah, you always have to make up for his aloofness. Why can't you work at the crematorium again?"

"Somebody's gotta pretend to be a stay at home mom. Jack can't because he was always the working type, and neither can you. You're just like him in that regard. I really don't get how you actually _want _to work all the time, but it's admirable."

"Thanks. Can't say the same for you, though. I mean, don't you ever get _bored _writing stuff in books and managing our finances?"

"Nope! It's great. Although I miss you a lot. Wish you'd embrace a life like mine, but I wouldn't want to change you."

"That's exactly what mom said." Pulse replied. Pith went back to his work, and Pulse felt herself growing impatient.

"Could I maybe go off and do something?" she asked him suddenly.

"Sure. Why not go help some of those kids in the orchard? They could use the extra help, and we could use the extra money. Consider it your job for the rest of the day, if you have to."

"You know I would!" Pulse called as she ran off to the orchards. They were a good distance away from home, in another part of the district, but she drove herself there using one of the hearses parked at home for times in which Jack had to go and pick up a body. Pulse didn't actually have any sort of license, but she had watched Jack drive these things enough times to know how it worked.

She arrived at the orchards with no trouble at all. Upon seeing her emerge from the hearse, the other children, most of them younger than her, meandered away from her, clearly trying to avoid but unsure how to make it seem like they weren't. Pulse snickered, not understanding what it was about her that made them avoid her. Probably because she was just so big and muscular for her age, and especially for a girl. There were a few peacekeepers about as well, but they didn't seem to pay her any heed. One recognized her, though, and nodded at her. They technically could whip her for driving without a license, but they seemed not to care at the moment. Or maybe they too were afraid of her. She didn't really care.

But as she went from tree to tree, climbing the ladders and picking the apples, oranges and lemons that hadn't been noticed yet, she noticed that there was one boy that wasn't avoiding her. He was scrawny and a bit unhealthy looking, but what caught Pulse's eye was what he was wearing; a hat that was wide enough to cover his whole frame, gloves, glasses that were constantly sliding across his nose, a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. All this despite autumn not having started yet, at least in District 11. He also seemed to be of African and Asian-American descent, the former of which were common in District 11. The latter not so much, but Pulse was far more curious about his outfit than his racial makeup, as well as why he so lonely like her.

"Whatcha hidin' your skin from, kid?" Pulse asked, hoping he wasn't one of those overly sensitive types. "Bugs? Or do you just think you're ugly?"

"I'm allergic to the sun," the boy replied without a smile or a glance. Pulse laughed uproariously.

"Is that even possible?! To get itchy from the sun?!"

"Yes."

"…Oh. Good to know. Then why'd you come out here, then? Pretty stupid of you to make your allergies trigger, unless it turns you on or something."

"No. I'm out here simply because I need something to do, to get away from my family."

"Huh, me too. At least the something to do part. Dad wanted to be alone, so now I'm here."

"The two of us, just idling away. Even if we had other options I bet we'd still want to do this, just because we think it's our calling. The Capitol did well."

"Who? Oh, yeah, the Capitol. Don't really give a crap about them."

"Me neither. I'd like to blame them for my problems, but the way my dad works he'd probably find a way to be just like he is today. Maybe with a bit more money, though."

"What does your dad do that you don't seem to like? It is something you don't like, right? Is he messed up in the head? Or does he molest you every night?" Pulse rattled off questions, and the boy stared at her incredulously, a bit surprised that she was serious with every one of them.

"Wait, did I say something stupid?" Pulse asked him. "Hate it when that happens…"

"No, it's fine. I guess I can tell you," the boy said. "My dad left my mom after having me and some of my sisters. Then he got bored and left her for another woman. And then another. And then another. As a result, my family is…big crazy."

"Wow…that kinda sounds like it sucks," Pulse remarked. "You must have a lot of siblings to keep track of, am I right?"

"There's Bo-the better version of me-and a few sisters I care to remember. I just call the step-moms by their numbers."

"Wish I could keep track of people that way! They're so interchangeable to me."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Most people, they're just drops in an ocean to almost everybody else."

"Yeah. But you know," Pulse added, trying not to necessarily argue despite having a different opinion, "They're worth something to somebody. I work at a funeral home, I should know."

"Interesting. If it were up to me the graves would have no marks on them at all," the boy told her. Just stones alerting to the location of dead bodies."

"Why would you do that? Because you wanted to be an asshole or something?" Pulse asked. The boy chuckled and shook his head before reverting to melancholy again.

"I think we were meant to be forgotten." Pulse found that she couldn't possibly agree with that, and she was actually a little offended by the statement. To her, the deceased were unforgettable, their names and the memories their loved ones had of them being passed down from generation to generation. Virtually everyone, no matter who they were, was remembered to some degree after they died. And if they weren't, then Pulse would give them new ones. It was the least she could do to help out her community.

She wanted to say all this, but she didn't. Not because she was worried about being laughed at or engaging in an argument—she could handle either of those two outcomes-but because she felt like she couldn't convince this boy of the authenticity of her feelings. So she did the next best thing:

"I'm Pulse. Pulse Fallow," she said, extending out her hand in greeting. She wasn't accustomed to this gesture, but neither was the boy. Guess it was practice time for both of them.

"You're all right, Pulse," the boy said, shaking her hand from under the shade of a tree. "I'm Teddy Graves."

"Graves, huh? Wish I had that last name. It'd be perfect for my job!"

As the sun set, the two parted ways and did not think of each until the next day, when they found themselves being reaped for the Hunger Games and sent away on a train, far away to the Capitol, destined to be remembered by Panem, whether they liked it or not.

**AN: See, I AM doing them in random order! Didn't think you'd see 11, did you?**

**I don't know if you all thought it was a bit weird that I didn't show Teddy and Pulse getting reaped. I thought that this interaction would bring about more of their respective personalites, whereas their reapings seemed unnecessary, unlike some of the others. More so Pulse than Teddy, of course, since this was sort of from her perspective.**

**Credit for the creation of Pulse and Teddy goes to Vulkodlak and Meddling Artist, respectively.**

**Now there are only 2 spots left: a boy for 3 and a boy for 9. I can't take anything else, and all the other spots are CLOSED! Anyone can submit except for Munamana and Aspect of One (you know who you are!) because they have both already submitted a tribute to those districts. If you recall, you can only submit one tribute per district to avoid twins, siblings, and lovers being reaped.**

**On a side note, I would gladly accept your tribute if he is not: observant, analytical, wears a social mask, is insane, an orphan, is very frank, speaks his mind, or is very snarky. I already have tributes like this, and I don't want to have this problem where I have different tributes with unintentionally similar personalities.**

**Not that I want dozens of tributes with all the opposite traits, but you get the idea. If your tribute IS one of these things I certainly wouldn't turn them down because of that, but I may ask you to revise him so that he isn't so much like some of the other tributes I have.**

**Trivia question: What is the name of the Zombie in Monster Story?**

**Mortos**

**Necrom**

**Thanatos**

**Mr. Rotting**


	10. District 8 reapings--Euphemisms

District 8 reapings—Euphemisms

Thomas Kerr returned home from school with his sister Lucy to find his mother Lolita being her usual self: busy with management of the family business.

"Oh, good you're home, sweetie. How was school?" she said, breaking off her conversation with a man whose face Thomas recognized, but otherwise drew a blank. Lucy ignored the discussion and went off to her room, not interested in her mother's usual dealings at the moment.

"Normal. Except everybody was talking about reaping day." His mother paused for a second before sighing quietly.

"Forgot about that. I don't know if some of the girls will be off that morning, but it shouldn't hurt us too much."

"I could always pick up the slack for you, ma'am," the stranger said. She looked at him with amusement and chuckled.

"No offense, _sir, _but I don't think now is a good time to switch careers. Or ever, for that matter."

"No, ma'am. I meant I could sell enough of my inventory to pick up the slack." Thomas' mother blushed.

"Oh…sorry I misunderstood you. Yeah, you should be able to do that."

"My payment for last week, though. When's it coming in?"

"You should find something wired into your back account by tomorrow." The stranger nodded in gratitude and then left.

"Why do you have to use all those euphemisms again, mom?" Thomas asked. "Girls? Inventory? Picking up the slack? Something?" Lolita gave her son a hug.

"You'll understand one day when you're in charge," she reassured him. "Never know who could have a wire. Euphemisms are always necessary in—"

"_Our _line of work," Thomas finished, having heard that particular euphemism so many times. Lolita smiled, glad that she had made her son memorized her jargon.

"Well, my client's gone now, so I think the house might be safe. Last time I got the inspector in he couldn't find any bugs. So I guess we can speak freely."

"Good," Thomas said. "Because I was going to tell you that nobody at school that I know of wants to get high or laid. Well, I think Jimmy does, but…"

"He doesn't have the money for it, I'll bet," Lolita finished. "Plus I don't like your classmates becoming my clients. The thought is just icky. I mean, sure, what we do is illegal, but even we Kerrs have our standards."

"Yeah. Thanks for that," Thomas said, hugging his mother back.

"So, when you finish your homework, I'll need you to go and check on the prostitutes at the brothels. Go as far as Cobbler Street and then come back, and get half of their cash, or more if you can squeeze it out of them."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, sweetie. Hope I made you happy by not using euphemisms!"

"You did," Thomas reassured her as he went off to go do his homework. A few minutes passed by before his sister came in unannounced.

"That was stupid," Lucy said harshly.

"Well, why did you wait a bit to tell me?" Thomas asked.

"I had to make sure mom left. But don't be all mushy with her. That's just weird and embarrassing and gross."

"How is it embarrassing? We're at home."

"I mean telling her not to use words to cover up other words. What's it called again?"

"_Euphemisms,"_ He corrected her.

"Yeah, those. Don't be harsh to her like that ever again! And don't ever tell her about your little plans or I'll make you pay!" Thomas ignored her and said nothing.

Lucy angrily turned around and slammed the door, frustrated that she had accomplished little. Maybe one day Thomas would understand that organized crime was covert, not an act of rebellion.

Or maybe he wouldn't.

Thomas finished his homework and went along the nearby streets of District 8, remembering to stop and turn around at Cobbler Street just like his mother had instructed. Maybe the other prostitutes could manage themselves.

He came to the first brothel, a plain-looking building marked as the "Silk Hotel", but most residents around here knew what it really was. Thomas knocked on the door, and the gentleman who was essentially the brothel's manager opened the door.

"Pay day?" he asked Thomas.

"Yup. Well, for mom."

"Ok, I'll let the girls know." Thomas waited outside for a few minutes, standing at the side so that he wouldn't be in the way of any clients that shuffled out awkwardly.

"Aren't you too young to be here?" one of them asked.

"Yeah, but my mom's making come over," Thomas explained. The man's jaw dropped in shock, obviously coming to incorrect conclusions.

"Well…hope you have fun, kid." Thomas didn't reply and went into the brothel.

Most of the women had put on cloaks and dresses suitable for wearing in public when Thomas entered their rooms to collect the money. They were polite and smiled, occasionally making small talk and handing Thomas the exact amount required of them. They didn't dare try and seduce him.

Thomas continued this process until he reached the last brothel before Cobbler Street, counting all of the money he had so far and realized that the prostitutes had come up short of their usual income. Mom wouldn't be happy, especially if some of them wouldn't be working on reaping day.

So when it came to the last brothel, Thomas had to put on his charm. Since he was only 13 and rather prepubescent, it wasn't the sort of charm that the prostitutes hoped for in a client.

"Hey, Anita! Hi, Belle! Hi, Zena!" Thomas said hello to each of the prostitutes by name and went to each one individually.

"Hey, listen," was the beginning of the basic message Thomas delivered to each one of them, "Mom wants payment. I would normally ask for an even cut, but some of the others couldn't contribute as much. I know it's a pain for you to have to give a bit more, but my mom…you know how she can be. I don't want her getting mad. I just…want to make her happy. So, if you could just give a bit more today, that would be great. I promise it won't be money wasted, especially with me!"

Some of them were moved by Thomas' desire to please his mother, others believed him when he said that his mother would be angry if he failed to collect enough money (Thomas himself didn't know, but he simply chose not to risk it), and still others just gave him the extra money because they were quite used to this sort of thing. But nobody could resist Thomas; he was too sweet and innocent-looking despite being the son of the largest crime organization in District 8.

"Thanks," Thomas told the girls. "I know life isn't the best right now, but I promise that when I take over the business, things will be a bit happier. We'll have made enough by then to renovate these places and bribe the cops enough so that you guys and the drug dealers will have an easier time of working." The girls were gladdened by his promises and hoped that he would do just that, although some had their doubts.

Thomas then made his way home, where he found his father Cas with his mother. Cas ran the smuggling aspect of the business, and he was the one who managed the rendezvous points in and out of the District, where people from 6 would come and smuggle in all sorts of drugs—most of them only illegal for people in the Districts only because the Capitol could survive if many of its citizens were high on something. But District people needed to work, not get high, was their logic. Thomas thought this was completely unfair, but even so it made good business. The recipients at the spots at the edge of 8 would then meet with their sellers and distribute all of their stock evenly, and the list of confirmed clients was endless.

Now, though, Cas wasn't discussing drug smuggling. He seemed to whispering to Lolita in frantic tones, and she grew pale. Thomas watched them talk, trying to eavesdrop, but then turned and took cover behind the wall of a hallway when his mother turned her head towards him.

"I think he can hear us…" Lolita breathed. "Guess it doesn't matter. Don't want him to know, though. Euphemisms."

"Ok, fine," Thomas heard Cas whisper. "But, look…I doubt they'll do it. They'd go after us, not him."

"No, they'd go after him all right," Lolita replied. "That's how the Capitol punishes people. That's what they'd do to us. It's the only way they can break us."

"I hope you're wrong," Cas said. "But at least we broke _them _good."

"We did. But it doesn't matter now if they're taking our baby away."

"We can stop them, we have the strength," Cas insisted.

"What, with our army of hookers and druggies?!" Lolita rasped, forgetting to use the usual euphemisms. "No, we can't. The only thing we can do is…comply. Lucy will be a good manager."

Thomas went to bed that night, uneasy and terribly afraid.

. . . . .

The next morning at reaping day, Thomas trembled as he walked up to the stage, knowing that he had been reaped for a reason.

"Thomas Kerr," he muttered his name to the escort, who acted as if nothing strange had happened at all.

"And now for the girls!" the escort called out. He reached his hand into the girls' reaping bowl, and Thomas briefly wondered whether it was rigged, too. Would one of the organization's finest prostitutes be in the Games, too?

"Denelle Ardley!" the escort announced. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't recognize that name, so chances are it was some ordinary girl with no connections. He could see a girl that was fairly tall, at least from his perspective, and wearing an all-yellow dress with an all-yellow bow to match. Even her blonde hair complemented this whole yellow thing. She was giving her friends and family a hug before bounding up the stage.

"I know you don't know me, and I know this is probably the worst thing to ever happen to you right now," Denelle told Thomas, squeezing him into a hug. "But I'll do what I can to make something good out of it!"

"It's ok. I was kind of expecting this. You see," Thomas began as they were escorted to the Justice Building, "My family runs the District's largest underground crime organization, consisting of numerous brothels and drug peddlers. So it was only a matter of time, really." Denelle looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Wow! That sounds…really fascinating! You've GOT to tell me about it sometime soon while we have time!"

**AN: Ok, I just REALLY wanted Thomas to say that last line. Just imagine him saying it in the most awkward and yet most frank way possible.**

**Sorry that you didn't get to see much of Denelle. These tributes are all so well-written that I can only get to one, and even then I try to show you a glimpse of the other tribute. I just figured you'd be less inclined to read this in one sitting if it went over 2,500 words.**

**A big thanks to earthling44 and jakey121 for Thomas and Denelle, respectively.**

**Trivia question: Which of these characters usually wears a red sweater?**

**Kankri**

**Elmer Fudd**

**Slim**

**Leela**


	11. District 7 reapings: Echoes

District 7 reapings—Echoes

Dade couldn't hear the gurgles of the small child he whose head he was dunking into a toilet over the sound of his own laughter. He didn't know or care to find out if every school in Panem had its own group of bullies, but as far as he was concerned his job was perfect for him. It was the role he deserved. After all, it wasn't like school had any promise for him.

"Hihihihihihi! Now give'em a swirly, boss!" Lanny, one of Dade's lackeys, cried in a high-pitched laugh. Lanny was a smart kid in Dade's eyes because he knew to get on his good side, rather than let himself get the torment he deserved for being a cruel, inconsiderate human being.

Dade obliged, flushing the toilet in the boy's face before finally letting him take in some air. As cruel as he could be, Dade would never kill someone who had never actually harmed him.

"Stop, stop!" the boy pleaded after he had gasped for air.

"Heh, I'll bet that's what your mom said when she was giving birth to you!" Dade made sure to find out whatever insecurities or weaknesses all of his subjects possessed, and made sure to exploit them and mock them for it, hoping he could make them cry, just like they used to do to him. It was the perfect revenge. In this boy's case, there were rumors that he had been illegitimately conceived, although the boy was too frightened to confirm or deny this. Instead he ran off to try and escape the bathroom.

"Grab him!" Dade ordered Kendrick, his other, burlier lackey. Kendrick obeyed and held the smaller boy in place, who was worried that the process would start over again.

"You're lucky today. Class is about to start and I've used up all my skip days," Dade explained. "The peacekeepers will have me if I'm not over there. But first…" he tugged at the boy's hair a bit and kicked both of his shins, careful not to leave any marks of his injuries on him.

"They'll know you were bothering me because my hair's still wet from the toilet!" the boy protested. Dade snorted.

"What are you talking about? You're the one who did it, you clumsy fool. That's probably why your mom didn't want you." With another snap of Dade's fingers, Kendrick knocked the boy forwards, sending his head back into the toilet again, and then the trio of bullies left for class.

In truth all the adults knew that Dade was a bully; it was just that he did his deeds out of their sight, so they couldn't have him properly punished for it. And even if they did, he probably wouldn't be detained for long; who would want to get on bad terms with the son of one of the most diligent couples in District 7?

When he got to class, the students were instructed by their teacher in a careless tone to occupy their time by reading pages 520-545 in their history books. Dade squinted hard at the words on the paper.

_Maybe this time, I can see it. Maybe…no. This is just stupid!_

Dade closed his book and brooded for the next few minutes until class was over and he had to move onto the next one, Math.

Numbers were just like letters to him; utterly incomprehensible. How was everyone else able to see things just fine when all he saw were a bunch of goofy, wavy symbols? 6 and 9 were just the same thing flipped on opposite sides, and how could he be sure that Os weren't actually zeros? They were practically the same thing! And lowercase Ps, Qs, and Bs were completely indistinguishable.

_Back when I was little, none of it mattered. Now it's everything, _Dade thought. _Why can't I just see this stuff like everybody else?_

So because Dade couldn't recognize the words and numbers, his grades were essentially nothing at all. The only reason he was still in school was because it was legally required, and this was the only one in his area of the District. 6 more years of tormenting and torment.

But not all of his life was bad. When school ended for the day Dade went home to his family. They weren't much better than the kids at school, but they weren't what he had come home for. Much to his dismay, they were all home waiting for him.

"What the heck? Shouldn't you all be doing something I can't?" he demanded of his mother, father and brother.

"No, Dade. We have the day off before reaping day, remember?" his mother Tara said. "I'm going to be making dinner." And with that she left the room, not wishing to be in her younger son's presence any longer. Tara worked as an electrician running the more technical aspects of the lumber mills. When she had tried to teach Dade mathematics (which were like a second language to her), she had failed miserably because he was just too far above her level for her to impart anything useful. For all that she knew she could never understand how she had been able to have a son who would be able to learn nothing that she had.

"It might be your last," Dade's father Riall warned him. Dade rolled his eyes. His dad was always like this to him, angry with him for his bullying ways.

_Try being in my shoes for one second, Dad, _Dade wanted to say._You'll see it's not easy to get by when you're stupid. You have to make up for it somehow. Besides, I'll grow up to be strong like you. Isn't that what you want?_

Now only his brother Wesson was left. He was the only person Dade knew that viewed him with sympathy. But he sure as heck didn't want it.

"School got you down?" his brother asked as kindly as he could. Dade ignored him and headed for his room.

"Not now. Wanna go play with my friends. Not you."

"Are you sure you don't need my help with anything?"

"Maybe I do. But I don't want it. Now go help mom make dinner or lift some logs with dad or something." Wesson sighed, but smiled as his little brother left.

"No matter how you've acted, I've always believed in you." But his words were lost when Dade slammed the door as loudly as he could.

"Finally, I'm with you guys again! School sucked, as usual. Who's hungry?" Dade asked his friends with a smile. They made various noises but otherwise paid little attention.

None of Dade's "true" friends—his lackeys didn't count—were of the human variety. They consisted of Beauty and Lovely, the two mocking jays, Ellie, Effie, and Essie, the rats, Sssam and Sssage the garter snakes, and one other individual who didn't seem to be here at the moment. That was fine, though. She'd be here soon.

Dade reached into his pockets and pulled out some food appropriate for each of his animal friends, giving them a few minutes to leave their cages and drink from their respective water bowls as well. First Dade let the rats out, petting each of them and letting him nibble the seeds he held out in his hand. Effie was the excited one, eating the most, Ellie was more suspicious of most humans—it had taken her years to trust Dade—and Essie was the sweetest, so soft and affectionate. After the rats were escorted back into their cage Dade let out the snakes, giving them two dead mice each. Sssam was the picky one that would only allow Dade to touch him on the top of his head, otherwise he'd flail about and try to free himself. Sssage was more docile, sometimes even going so far as to restrain Sssam with just the flicker of her tongue. Then Beauty and Lovely were let out of their cages, fluttering about on the perches Dade had built for them, eating the berries he had for them. Lovely and Beauty were almost alike in behavior, but their songs were much different, Beauty's was a few upbeat, happy notes, while Lovely's was a bit longer and seemed more melancholy. Dade had always wondered where she had learned it from.

Once all the animals had been put back into their cages Dade whistled for his last friend, Gabby the tabby. Gabby signaled her presence with a soft _mrrow _and jumped up to the window when Dade opened it for her. He petted her and gave her a few bits of cat food. It looked like almost every other cat food he knew of, but it was supposed to be a delicious treat, and Gabby was always eager to receive it. Otherwise she hunted mice for herself, appreciating Dade only because of these treats and because she liked the company.

"Catch any mice today?" Dade asked her. Gabby gave a purr in response.

"Guess not, huh? You'll get'em next time," he reassured his feline companion. He then proceeded to talk to each of his animal friends while petting Gabby, most of whom didn't respond at all, too afraid of the cat that, thankfully, had already eaten.

At the end of the day Dade went to sleep with Gabby curled up at the foot of his bed, thankful for the softness of the covers.

_What was the point of having human friends, _Dade thought, _When all they did was be mean to you and hate you for no reason? Animals are so much better._

. . . . .

Cecilia, unlike Dade, had no friends, not even animals.

She and her nanny Alessia were having a quiet dinner together, discussing the day's events in as little words as possible. Alessia was doing this for Cecilia's sake, knowing how reluctant she was to open up.

"Do you ever suppose the Novaks will punish their son?" she asked Cecilia.

"I doubt it." And she went right back to eating.

"Well…I heard lumber production has doubled. The workers will all get pay bonuses. Hopefully that will mean a little bit more food for us, too."

"What does it matter? We're not workers, thank goodness." Cecilia did not even look up from her food.

"You do know that tomorrow is reaping day," Alessia reminded her.

"So?" Cecilia asked, wishing to ignore her. Alessia scowled. She always acted somber and distant like this, but it was annoying the week before reaping day because she seemed to make it worse.

"Cecilia…my darling, we must talk," Alessia said, standing up out of her chair.

"We just did. What, you want to do it standing up now? Trying to give me a standing ovation? For what?" Cecilia asked, the faintest of smiles appearing on her face.

"No, dear." Alessia was a patient woman, but even she knew there were times to be forceful. "You can't go on like this."

"What, living with you? Don't worry, in a few years I can move out and be on my own. I'm already trying to get a job at the lumber mills, and…"

"No. That's not what I mean. You know what I mean. Can't you go back to being the way you used to be? The way I remember you when you were younger?"

"No," Cecilia replied curtly. Alessa was getting angry now, but very slowly.

"You can't live in the past, sweetie. You can't just change your life permanently just because of something that happened 5 years ago! Do you think it's what your parents would want? Do you think it's what _Robin _would want?" Cecilia frowned at her guardian, her lip quivering in sorrow. Alessia went over to her and gave her a comforting hug.

"I've tried. But I can't. I just can't!" Cecilia cried. "Every day is a struggle for me just to get up in the morning, knowing that my whole family, the family that I remember so clearly and loved so much, is all gone. And there wasn't anything I could do about it! It's something I've never tried to tell you. Something you'd never understand."

"You're right," Alessia replied. "I wouldn't ever completely understand. But always remember that you were never grieving alone. I shared the pain with you when your parents were killed. I shared the pain with you when Robin was reaped. Don't ever think you're alone in this. You're so much stronger than you think you are, Cecilia, no matter how weak and broken you feel inside."

Cecilia dried her tears and vowed to remember that from then on.

. . . . .

Xenophon Cupress shuffled his feet to keep himself occupied on the morning of reaping day. He hated being back here in the square every year; it brought back bad memories. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he had different parents, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Quit doing that, pay attention!" Johanna rasped. Xenophon rolled his eyes but stopped his fidgeting. Soon he would be on the train out of here. And it wasn't like his family would be here anyway. The good thing about living in the Victor's Village and having all that money was that he could hire an Avox to keep his parents and brother out, although at times Monica would insist on letting them in.

He wasn't exactly a close friend of any of the other mentors from the other Districts, but he had already heard from Katniss—who had heard from the news as well as a long chain of sources that went all the way back to some angry Gamemaker—what the arena would be about. Bringing up hidden knowledge just to stamp it out really made his blood boil. He could care less what said knowledge was _about_—it was just that his worst fears about the Capitol were now confirmed.

They had hid things from him. Things he had had to find out by sneaking around through the streets to dirty alleys, not for sex or drugs or moonshine but for books, illegal books that told the truth about the world and Panem, as well as facts about science and life that no one was supposed to know, at least not in 7, land of the dumb hardy lumberjacks.

Xenophon grinned at the thought. That fit Zane perfectly.

Not even Capitolites knew what he did. And Xenophon was quite sure that no matter what he told to whoever he told would get him Avoxed. And so Xenophon had quickly realized after his Games were over that it would be best for him to simply Avox himself, in a non-literal sense. Not even his tributes could know the details of the arena, in part because he didn't know much about it all himself. The other mentors had made it into such a convoluted game of Telephone (Xenophon was grateful to actually have learned what a telephone was before being reaped) that there was nothing he could impart that was useful other than there would be some supernatural happenings in the Arena. How vague could you get?

He heard the names for the tributes being called out. First came some big little boy—quite the oxymoron, but it fit him—called Dade Novak, wearing blue jeans, a belt, a white t-shirt and red jacket over it. Dade said his name with a growl at the escort—the same one that had been there when Xenophon had been reaped-and was clearly extremely angry for having been reaped on his first time, shouting obscenities and quite convinced that it had been rigged. Given all the relieved children he had knocked over on his way to the stage, maybe it had been. Xenophon swore he could see a flash of green in the sleeves of Dade's shirt.

Next came a girl named Cecilia Banggai. She had black hair and looked a little muscular, probably from some tree-chopping or something. Her outfit was pretty ordinary; just some jeans, a jacket, and some boots. She was quite somber looking and was clearly holding back tears. But then, just before her eyes could water, she stopped.

"Did you see that?" Johanna whispered.

"Yeah. What do you think is up with that?" Xenophon whispered back.

"I don't know, but we'll find out. You leave her to me!"

"But I don't want the boy! He's kind of…punkish," Xenophon protested weakly. But Johanna ignored him, and they went back to their train to wait for the tributes to board.

While he and Johanna had tried to learn as much as they could about the tributes from their brief observations of them, one thing they couldn't have known were the words that bounced around in their heads. For Dade it was:

_I've always believed in you._

And for Cecilia:

_You're stronger than you think you are._

**AN: I tried to show as much as I could of both tributes, but Cecilia has not quite been completely revealed.**

**Xenophon Cupress is an OC of mine. I submitted him to a few SYOTs but so far NONE of them have really gotten off the ground or gone past the first few reapings. No one has done a POV of him but me, his creator. You'll learn a bit more about him later. I figured it was ok to include him since I technically own him and the SYOTs he's in might be dead.**

**Now the only spot left is a boy for District 9! Someone really needs to submit, and it has to be a good one!**

**Trivia question: What kind of animal is Arachne?**

**A Frog**

**A Cat**

**An Alligator**

**A Spider**


	12. District 6 reapings--Tasks of Legacies

District 6 reapings—Tasks of legacies

Elodie Kruger patrolled the halls of the hospital, searching for her parents. They would be just about done at this time, and hopefully anxious to see her. She grimaced at the white, sterile walls, metaphors of what she had been made into.

In her own unique way, she was enslaved, not to working in a field or a factory like children from other districts, but in the way that her destiny had already been decided for her; she was to be a proper lady, perhaps a doctor, and if not that then some other high-paying job available for her. She was to set an example to those in the District below her as the epitome of grace, sanity, independence, and active femininity.

Except there was another. Her older sister Elysia, was already on the path to becoming these things, and unlike Elodie she was obedient and willing to let others decide her fate. What was the point of making herself great, Elodie thought, when her sister would forever outshine her?

Elodie herself appeared that way, too, but in reality her mind had yet to be imprisoned by her parents' wishes. To be fair to them, they wanted the best for her, and the path that they wanted her to follow was a prosperous one, as could be attested by their respective high salaries.

But Elodie wanted more. She didn't want to be a great woman among equals; she wanted to be above the people that had tried to control her, hiding her power and manipulation until she was confident enough to reveal it to those that thought of her as subservient.

"Elodie, dear. Thank you for checking up on us, even though you certainly didn't have to," her mother Alise stated in an emotionless tone, snapping the girl out of her grandiose dreams. Elodie went back to reality to find her parents already standing in front of her, apparently having finished whatever operation or routine check-ups they had been doing.

"You're welcome, mother," Elodie replied politely. "I just wanted to see if either of you were done with work yet. School was prematurely closed for reaping day."

"Thank you for reminding us about this," her father Shaw added. "We tend to forget about reaping day, given our jobs and its near-negligible effects on our patients. You'll understand if you follow in our footsteps when you're old enough."

Elodie smiled back. "Indeed, soon we can all forget reaping day." Her mother chuckled in agreement, but that was about as far as her sense of humor went; too much laughter was uncivilized from the point of view of a Kruger.

"Can't wait for that!" her mother replied. "Now let's all go home so your father and I can fix dinner. To think we nearly left it up to you to provide for yourselves!" so the 3 Krugers for home to find their last family member already there. Elysia stayed at home despite being 21 due to her having been enrolled in medical school, and Alise and Shaw had insisted on her not staying at a "filthy or potentially hazardous" dormitory.

"Nice to see you both home," Elysia said with the same sort of politeness that the rest of the Krugers used when speaking to each other. To an observer the whole scene would look eerie or fake, but it was only that way to Elodie; her parents saw their mannerisms as the perfect way to behave, and they had made sure to pass it on to her.

"We're so sorry we almost made you have to go out and buy dinner," Alise apologized to Elysia.

"Or worse, be forced to make it yourselves," Shaw added. "We'll try not to do that again."

"Don't worry, I wasn't planning on going out!" Elysia said sweetly, but with a bit more emotion than her parents. "It's not like you both never come home or anything." Elodie and Elysia, being viewed as potential prodigies, were discouraged from providing for themselves, lest they become more like the rest of the uncivilized District children. Elodie saw no harm in it, but Elysia had swallowed whatever her parents had asked of her.

After dinner, which mainly consisted of Elodie's parents going over their day at work and explaining the procedures that they had had to do—with the girls nodding, smiling, and occasionally saying a few words in reply—the adults retired to their rooms to go over expenses involving the hospital while the girls were left to talk and eat some leftover cookies in the pantry.

"Hey, could you please help me for a second?" Elysia asked as she took out some sheets of paper from a backpack that had been lying on a couch in their living room. "Midterms are coming up, and…"

"I understand. There isn't anything to be ashamed about. I'm sure you'd do better than me, anyway," Elodie reassured her sister, thinly veiling the sarcasm of her words just enough so that Elysia wouldn't notice. Although she was clearly lying to make her sister feel at ease, Elysia was too nervous about her midterm study guide to tell. Elodie, unlike Elysia, had made sure to learn as much as she could about the medical profession the moment her parents had pre-determined this path for her, rather than just try and memorize their advice and hope to be able to recall it. And so it was that Elodie actually knew more than her sister and was better at following in her parents footsteps than she was, not that they'd ever know or believe her if she told them. But that was all right; Elodie didn't despise her sister enough to let her know how she felt. Instead she had decided to use her as a tool to protect herself from her parents' prying when needed. Elysia was quick to defend her sister, and whatever suspicions Elodie's parents had about her not thinking the way they wanted her to subsided.

Seeing as her life had been this way for some time now, Elodie had adopted patience in addition to the numerous virtues her parents had hoped she would have. It was a long way to the top, yes, but soon, she too could go to medical school with her sister, and from then on she wouldn't have to help her anymore. Her parents would soon realize that _Elodie, _was the superior one, not Elysia, and then they would prop her up in a position alongside them at the hospital. And then she would use the very things they had taught her to supersede them as they aged and their knowledge dulled, and then she would be the undisputed top doctor in the District. And with it came the management of the best hospital in the District…

And with that came the power of life and death.

. . . . .

Darius Irons woke the next morning for reaping day like all the other District children. But unlike them, he had a few things to attend to first. Nora's arm probably needed some looking into—she had complained about it hurting to bend it yesterday—and then there was that alarm clock which he needed to fix because it didn't go off this morning—you'd think building one from scratch would be easy, right?

_Apparently not, _Darius thought as he took a shower and got dressed for reaping day. He entered the living room to find his sister Diana about to crash into him with a hug.

"Come back, ok?" she pleaded.

"Don't worry, I'll only be gone for a few minutes at the most. They probably won't pick me," Darius reassured her.

"But what happens if you do?" she asked in a frantic tone. "I heard from Sally that they take you in the train and kill you—"

"They don't kill you!" Darius corrected her forcefully, although she wasn't entirely inaccurate in her assumptions. "Don't listen to Sally, she doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Ok. Just come back!"

"I will, I will," Darius replied, picking up his sister and putting her up on his shoulders to sit. She was young enough for now.

He carried her to the kitchen, where their parents were having breakfast.

"Ten minutes later than usual, Darius. I take it the clock didn't work?" his father Roland asked when he saw his son.

"Yeah. Sorry, dad. Tomorrow I'm going to try see if I can modify the circuit a bit." Despite being middle class, the Irons family didn't have an abundance of electrical outlets (that was more reserved for people like the Krugers), so Darius had had to get an electric current for his clock going by making it from spare batteries and bits of metal himself. Given his family's wealth, it wasn't necessary for him to make his own alarm clock, or any of the things he had made, for that matter; Darius just liked doing it to show himself that he could.

"That's all right, son. I'll help you if you just ask."

"No, I wouldn't want you to get distracted on a side project when you should be helping customers," Darius insisted. Roland's job, which consisted of working in a workshop and making just about anything that people needed and couldn't acquire at a store—usually because it was illegal to sell or just out of stock. It was more lucrative than one would think, but Darius wanted to join his dad in that job one day, not for the money but because he could continue his passion.

"Be sure to go to Nora's before reaping, like you promised," Adriana, Darius' mother, urged him as the family finished breakfast.

"Thanks for reminding me," Darius replied. "I really don't want her to have any more discomfort just because I forgot about her." Roland left before Darius did, and when he did so Adriana used the opportunity to say a few more things to her son.

"Darius, darling…your father might be able to help you make that clock. I don't see why you keep refusing him."

"He's just better with machines than people," Darius explained. "Last time he tried to help he just got angry at me when I didn't do things right. He was also electrocuted. I don't think he's good at working with me, even though we have the same interests."

"He still loves, you, though. Remember that. And maybe give him another chance," Adriana urged. Darius hugged his mother before leaving to see Nora.

"I will. Make sure Diana's ok," he told his mother as he left.

A few minutes later he was at her house. Nora was a little bit older than him, but they had been friends ever since Nora, one of numerous children that had to work in the factories in District 6, had lost an arm in an accident, and Darius had built her a new prosthetic one shortly afterward upon finding that Roland wasn't able to. Before this Darius had been fascinated by the subject, but had never worked built an artificial limb before; Nora had been his first patient, and she was extremely grateful for the dedication he had put into making her a new and fully functional arm.

Darius' interest in prosthetics had stemmed from his curiosity of the inner workings of things. Rather than simply seeing a refrigerator as a thing that kept food cold, for example, Darius had been fascinated by how it had worked, wishing to take it apart so that he could see all the little things that made it function. He saw machines and objects not as inanimate things but instead as people, except they were made of metal or plastic or wires and were powered by electricity instead of blood.

His interest in building things, mostly of a metallic variety, led him to realize that it was very easy for him to create metal objects that mirrored parts of the human body. And when he finally found a way for them to connect together, he found that he had a new talent that not even his father could claim: an understanding of how to modify metal so that it could be grafted onto a human.

"Hey, glad you came!" Nora said as Darius arrived at her house, waving with her good arm—which was in most cases the artificial one.

"Ok, so it hurts when you bend it?"

"Yeah, my left shoulder. It's like there's someone's trying to push a spear in my shoulder the more I try and bend at the elbow."

"Sounds weird and a bit implausible…but I'll give it a look. You have screwdrivers, bandages, metal stuff, right?"

"I have everything you usually need."

"Thanks. I can always count on you!"

Nora laughed. "Should _I _be saying that to _you_?"

Minutes later Darius had found the source of the problem and fixed Nora's arm, and then the two went to the reaping, which had thankfully not started yet due to Darius having woken up rather early in the first place—although if that alarm clock had worked it would have been even earlier! Oh well. At least with machines he could just keep on tinkering to get them to work. People were a bit different.

. . . . .

Elodie tapped her foot impatiently as the escort, some woman wearing a ghastly outfit consisting of several different layers of mesh announced the male tribute. Some poor soul named Darius Irons. Elodie could see him now, a blonde kid just a little bit shorter than her with a somewhat rectangular face. It was hard to hear him say his name to the escort over the wails of some annoying little girl. _Reaping happens to a lot of people, you'll get over it,_ Elodie thought.

But then it happened to her.

And she definitely_did not_ get over it.

NO! Her brain screamed, her insides turning over in knots and her head heating up in horror and anger. This couldn't happen, not to her! This only happened to poorer kids! Surely her parents had enough money to bribe the Peacekeepers or the mayor to get her name off the list! But it seemed that they didn't. But why? Had they been aware of her true feelings about their way of raising her this whole time? Had they been plotting for this day? Was Elysia connected in any way? Was she even competent enough?

_None of these questions can be answered, _Elodie knew. _I have been placed on a pathway to my death against my will. But I can avert it, if I do everything right. I still have a chance…_

"And what is your name, dear? You're much lovelier than some of our last few girls!" the escort declared. Elodie smiled sweetly, putting on the façade that she needed to.

"My name is Elodie Kruger," she said. "And I am so very excited and proud to represent my district in the Hunger Games!" She wondered if her family could tell if she was lying, the same way everyone else could.

Not that it mattered. She could survive this if she just found the right people.

**AN: Let me know how you feel about these tributes, particularly Elodie. She's difficult to write, much more so than Darius (although he's great, too).**

**Thanks to MidnightRaven323 and ImmyRose for Darius and Elodie, respectively.**

**I now have ALL THE TRIBUTES! ALL OF THEM! So now the SYOT is officially closed…and the Games will soon begin! Well, right after a few more reaping chapters, then some train rides, chariots, training, interviews (no, I'm not skipping this stuff, it's important for character development!)**

**Thanks to everybody that submitted, even if your tribute didn't make it! I'll let everyone know how many sponsor points they have in private PMs.**

**Trivia Question: Who is Puyo?**

**A fat guy that sits around and drinks beer**

**An adorable Creeper with the mind of a child**

**A giant Mutradi monster**

**An evil genius**


	13. District 3 reapings--Friends and Family

District 3 reapings—Friends and family

Noiz Huxley navigated the dilapidated streets of District 3, trying to get home. Uncle G had called her on her cell phone—a rare luxury even for people here—and had asked for her help in some hacking deal. One of his clients in 8 had just called him, demanding a transfer of a large amount of money to someone's bank account from the "treasury" of the client's organization. The nature of the client, organization, and reasons for this whole thing were unknown to Noiz, but in her line of work there were a lot of questions that went unanswered.

"Noiz, wait!" came the call of a girl who didn't know the meaning of stealth. Noiz cringed at the sound, but smiled in amusement as she turned to see her 3 friends trying to follow her. She moved the indigo scarf she had wrapped around her neck to cover her mouth to reply. Noiz usually only talked when necessary, and the scarf hid a lot of her face, keeping her away from watchful eyes. She preferred to observe rather than be observed.

"You guys just don't want to leave me alone, do you?" she laughed, going into a back alley to herd the others away from the street. Given their group's activities, it was not completely unfounded for them to prefer living in the shadows as much as possible. Who could tell when a peacekeeper decided not to be hostile and hunt you down?

"What's Gadge getting you into?" her friend Flux asked. He was the aggressive one of the group, actively engaging in street fights for food, money, and occasionally for fun. The lack of bruises and scars tended to indicate that he won most of them.

"Some hacking job. Money transfer," Noiz explained.

"Aw, come on! You can't just leave us! We were all about to go see Blondie fight!" Bolt protested. He was sly like Noiz but also a thief, and much more notorious than her in the slums of 3. Hackers were only infamous among the few that were able to stop them.

"Sorry, guys. Gotta go. Apparently it's _really _important," Noiz insisted. "Although I'm honestly not sure why. I'm just quoting Uncle G here."

"Well, hurry back! It's no fun watching Blondie get hurt when you're not there to give funny commentary!" the redheaded girl who had called out her name urged. This was Techna, daughter of the mayor. Why she chose to hung out with them and not do something more fitting of her position was a mystery to them. Maybe she just enjoyed District 3's underbelly. Noiz had once considered that maybe she was some sort of a spy, but after hanging out around Techna enough it was clear that she wasn't.

"I promise I'll be back. If I'm the life of the party, you should really make it more obvious next time," Noiz told them. "Just have to go home, do my thing, and head back. In the meantime, try to hold off on that battle, Blondie," she told Flux.

"Flash, don't get into any trouble that needs me to distract somebody."

"So no pickpocketing?" Bolt asked for clarification. Noiz shook her head.

"And take care of Lala. Who knows what sort of penalties there are in the law books for bringing home the mayor's daughter with dirty shoes?" the others laughed at the joke, especially Techna. She still didn't quite get that her nickname was partially perjorative.

Noiz continued on towards home, this time with her friends not following her. The whole time she had a slight grin on her face and couldn't get rid of it, so she stayed as hidden as possible so as not to arouse suspicion amongst the few people she saw.

_Those nicknames still crack me up, _Noiz thought to herself. She had a habit of giving everyone she met a nickname. Her uncle Gadge, who was also her legal guardian, was Uncle G, Flux was Blondie, Bolt was Flash, and Techna was Lala. It suited them all well, at least in her mind.

Her home, where she lived with her uncle, was in a dingy apartment complex nestled within these same slums, with the same appearance as the others around it. Noiz quietly went up the stairs to their floor and went inside, where Gadge was hunched over a computer screen.

"Need help?" she asked, removing the indigo scarf from her face now that she was inside. The fumes from the factories were usually at breathable levels in here.

"Yes. I tried getting past the firewalls District 8 peacekeepers set up, but it's tougher than it looks."

"Let me take a crack at it, then," Noiz suggested. She did so, and within minutes she had done exactly as Gadge wanted.

"So, who's the money for?" Noiz asked out of curiosity.

"One of the drug peddlers over there," Gadge explained. "Worked for the Kerr family and wanted his pay. Their boss promised him some money but she didn't know how to send it to him, so she got me to do it."

"Or me, rather," Noiz corrected him. "Who are the Kerrs, exactly?"

"Not important. Just some drug-and-hooker ring in 8. Although I heard the head peacekeeper there is cracking down on them. Something when wrong with a murder plot they were hatching."

"Interesting," Noiz remarked. "Well, actually, not really. Can I go back to my friends now? Blondie wants me to watch him fight again."

"Sure, whatever you want," Gadge replied. Noiz left, readjusting her scar, when Gadge added:

"And Noiz?"

"What?"

"Thanks for your help. I know this is probably never what you expected you would be doing, but…"

"Don't make me cry, G. It's all right. I couldn't ask for anything more," Noiz replied before heading off, as silently as before.

. . . . .

"Tell us another one!" the little girl with the overbite pleaded.

"Well…ok-kay," Mohan Sim replied with a slight stutter. "But I'd have to make it up on the spot! Are you sure?" he asked the collective group of young children surrounding him. After a few nods of approval, he began another story, the fourth he had had to entertain the kids with. Mohan didn't blame the kids; it wasn't like there was much entertainment in an orphanage, anyway.

"On a planet far aw-way," Mohan began—he found the phrase "Once upon a time" to be far too clichéd and best used only on rare occasions—there were a group of owls. They lived on an island out in the sea, and they had just invented submarines and motor boats and found a way to put them together." The children nodded, too fascinated by the pictures they painted in their own heads to question the logic of the story.

"So they d-decided that after they had made enough they would have a race in their motorboat-submarines. Each sub-boat was c-controlled by a 4-owl crew and had to race all around the island in a huge circle, sometimes going underwater for p-part of the course. The subs could switch their methods of control…"

Mohan's imaginative story went on for a little while until the most likable of the owl crews ended up winning the race, because they had used their scanners to find out where the other sub-boats were (they had all gone into "phantom mode"). When the story was over the kids all seemed a bit sleepy. Mohan wasn't offended in the least by the idea that he had bored them; they would all have wanted naps anyway.

Mohan helped all the orphanage workers escort the children to their beds for naptime, and made sure that the older ones weren't being too rambunctious. After the kids had been seen to, he thanked the workers and went off to home, which was just down the street. His grandparents had founded the place, in their advanced age they couldn't afford to drive every day, both financially and physically speaking.

"How'd it go, kiddo?" Peter, his grandfather on his father's side, asked as Mohan went to the living room to see who was there. "They didn't give you any trouble, did they?"

"Nope, sent them right to bed after a few s-stories," Mohan reported. Scanning the room, he found that the only ones here were Peter and a stack of books he had been reading, one at a time. The stack had previously been 2, but the first stack had been finished and the second one was only halfway through.

"Great. I think I should go over there sometime and check on'em all. Sorry I'm not there often."

"That's all right," Mohan replied. "You're not getting any y-younger."

"But you're never too old to be useful!" Peter countered humorously. Mohan chuckled.

"So, are the others in b-bed?" he asked.

"No, Georgia and Jamirham are up. He's seeing to Nekka, although I think she's getting better."

Mohan went to visit the rest of his grandparents, finding Georgia, his father's mother and Peter's wife, in the kitchen.

"You didn't stutter, did you?" she asked.

"W-what? No!" Mohan insisted, blushing a little since it was obvious that he had.

"Don't be ashamed, sweetie. You're getting better, much better. Those kids probably don't notice," Georgia reassured him. Mohan had been quite the stutterer when he was younger, but even before his parents had died Georgia had been there to help him improve his speech. His Indian accent was still there, inherited from his mother, but she knew better than to change that. It made him sound so friendly and intelligent, which he was.

"I hope so. How did you know I had d-done that at the orphanage?" Mohan asked.

"It's what you usually do," Georgia replied. "I know they don't show it sometimes, but what you do is really helpful to them, psychologically speaking."

"I never read m-much on that," Mohan admitted. "You know I like stories, not facts and big words."

"Well, if you ever get interested, I can probably take you to the library sometime soon. Maybe we could pick up something nice for Nekka, too."

"Yeah. How is she?" Mohan asked. Nekka, his mother's mother, was the oldest of his grandparents and constantly in some sort of pain, so she rarely left her bed. But she was still in control of her mental faculties and her voice.

Mohan found his mother's father Jamirhan there as well, praying over her bedside. Mohan wasn't really sure which god he was praying to or even what he was saying; Jamirhan was certainly an extremely religious and superstitious sort, but he tended to keep most of it to himself. Nekka claimed he was a Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu and Christian all at once. Mohan couldn't find many books at the library on any of these topics, but the way Nekka had said "all at once" when asked about it probably indicated something.

Mohan waited until Jamirhan had finished his prayers before seeing Nekka. He left silently to give his grandson some alone time with his grandmother.

"I think his prayers are working," Nekka told Mohan. "This morning I almost forgot that it hurt my legs to get out of bed. I think I even forgot how old I was. How were the children at the orphanage?"

"Sweet as usual. Except for N-Nicholas, but he's fairly new. It must be so hard for him," Mohan replied. Nekka sighed in sympathy.

"You were so fortunate not to have ever known yours. And yet…so saddening at the same time that you would never get to know such wonderful people," Nekka told Mohan. "I didn't trust your father at first—I was so furious with your mother, that she would marry someone outside of her own race. I thought she was trying to destroy our heritage. But none of that seemed to matter after all. When you're my age, you can look back and think that, you know? I miss them both so much, but I feel that they're happy."

"Don't worry about it t-too much, Nekka," Mohan replied. "Let's talk about something…a bit h-happier."

"Fine with me," Nekka replied. "I had the most wonderful daydream yesterday. I went to sleep early that night, so I wasn't able to tell you then. I was flying, and I could see your parents, and the whole extended family that's no longer with us. We were going someplace…happy, I could feel it. At first we flew, but then we docked into a spaceship somehow. My daydreams are like that, and I don't stop my mind from letting my imagination run free."

"Sounds n-nice. What else happened?" Mohan asked. He was used to listening to these things from his grandmother, and sometimes he was able to get inspiration for another story. She had few others to talk to that would be willing to listen, so he was happy to provide her with company just so that she could have an excuse to talk. The maternal side of his lineage was no doubt filled with story tellers, he reasoned.

"That's not what I want to talk about, actually. I don't really remember much," Nekka admitted. "Instead, I feel compelled to tell you something—and don't ask why, either, I really don't know. Maybe Jamirhan asked a god to put the thought in my mind. No matter how long you live, Mohan—don't ever lose that sense of wonder and imagination you have. I know that soon you'll have to be living in a rational world that says certain things can happen and others cannot—but always keep your mind open to the possibility of anything. Don't limit the world to just what you see and learn; make sure to include the things your mind creates as well. They'll always have a place."

Mohan stared at her in confusion, but smiled when she was done.

"I guess I can d-do that," he replied, thinking nothing of what she had said. Nekka often seemed to have some sort of wisdom to pass down. Perhaps she was scared of losing it and wanted to pass the torch to him? But if so, then why did she only do it piecemeal? His mother's side of the family was always more mysterious than his father's. So different, and yet they had come together to make him.

"I know you can," Nekka added. "You're the perfect mix of realism and imagination, all wrapped up in kindness. Don't ever forget that, either!"

. . . . .

And then reaping day came.

Noiz had been smart to wear her scarf, because if she hadn't then the whole of Panem would have seen her jaw drop and then close, only to drop again seconds later like a fish. The first time was when she realized she had just been reaped. The second was when she realized that there was only a 1 in 500 chance that her name could have even been called in the first place.

_Sheer luck, _she thought. _Sheer dumb luck._

She heard the boy's name being called and watched a small Indian boy go up the stage, apparently with the name Mohan Sim.

"Hi, I'm Noiz," she said as she shook hands and their escort screeched out something about them being the tributes. "We might as well get to know each other if we're both about to be stuck together for a few days."

"I heard your name. Y-you know the orphanage? My grandpa founded that. I always read stories to the kids there. They seemed to like it. What about you?" Mohan asked. Noiz was surprised at how well he was taking this. Maybe there was a lot to learn from this kid. Or was he just naïve?

"It's not worth mentioning. I'm nobody, really," Noiz said sheepishly. She wasn't actually embarrassed, but she felt that Mohan wasn't someone she was meant to share her past with. She didn't like talking about it, either. "But…I'm an orphan, too, if that means anything to you."

"Not really," Mohan admitted. "Most of the p-people I know are like that," he said, not bothering to ask about her parents. That was something he had learned since his first days at the orphanage, even though his own parents had died when he was really young, so he had absolutely no memories of them.

"So, you read a lot, huh? I wonder if that would help in the Games. What do you think…Book Guru?" Noiz asked with a mischievous smirk.

"B-Book G-Guru?" Mohan repeated.

"I like giving out nicknames," Noiz admitted unapologetically. "It's just something I do. You can try it, if you want." She didn't seem to care whether or not Mohan would be offended by it, but he found it rather funny, so he wasn't.

"No thanks," Mohan answered. "I d-don't know if I'd be good at that."

"Fine with me," Noiz replied. "If I'm going to have competition, I can at least be the best in _one _thing."

**AN: Thanks to MidnightRaven323 and platrium for Noiz and Mohan, respectively. I promise that they're not the same despite both being orphans.**

**I've said it several times before, but I'll say it again in case you weren't aware: I've sent everybody their sponsor points, so now I have a list of how much everybody has (so I'll know if you're trying to buy something when you can't afford it).**

**I've decided to allow everybody to reserve one sponsor gift in advance between this chapter until right before the Games. It's NOT free, so if the sponsor gift you want to reserve will cost all that you have, save them.**

**Also, I don't NEED people to send in sponsor gifts in order to get the plot going. But if you send your tribute a weapon, it could tip the odds in their favor...or just even the playing field.**

**Also, if you haven't favorite, followed, or given substantial (I decide what that constitutes) reviews on the story then you can do so at any time. Favoriting or following will each get you 10 points, so that's 20 free points there. Each substantial review for the upcoming chapters will get you 20 additional points. Don't go back and review previous chapters for more points, though, because that would be too cumbersome for me to keep track of.**

**Since only a few people have been answering the trivia questions, I've decided to change it a bit. Previously I said you could get 25 points for answering correctly. Now it's 25 points for guessing at all and 50 for getting it right. They're all multiple choice, so you have a 1 in 4 chance of getting 50, but you'll always get 25 just for guessing.**

**Trivia question: Which of these characters is NOT a robot?**

**A. Octus**

**B. Bender**

**C. Robotnik**

**D. Grounder**


	14. District 9 reapings--Lost things

District 9 reapings—Lost things

Amruen Neversky crawled out of his sleeping bag in response to the sun hitting his eyes. Once he was out of the bag he took it and partially closed the blinds to lessen the sunlight in the room. Opening the large box in which he store all his food, he found an orange he had managed to steal from the Justice Building and a bit of stale bread. That would do.

Living alone wasn't difficult for him. Amruen had quickly learned how to provide for himself so that all those years the Capitol had taken from him wouldn't be difficult. And living out here, in this small cottage that was nowhere near a grain mill or most signs of civilization, he was free. But Amruen didn't like the fact that freedom meant living alone. The Capitol had given him this isolation, and any gift from the Capitol needed to be sent back. Just like they had with the others gifts they had given him; the arrests, the beatings, the way they had killed his parents—there were a lot of orphans in Panem, but most of them could not boast of having had their parents killed by Capitol agents themselves—and the way they had forced their destruction to be the sole focus of his life.

He went downstairs to the basement to check on his guns. The sniper rifle, the shotgun, and the pistols were still there, untouched since last night when he had tried to shoot some dummies in his basement for target practice. The soundproof, underground walls muffled the sound well enough, should there be an unlikely visitor or spy nearby. It had taken him years to acquire these things, and yet he still had not found the time to use them against the Capitol. Or even the swords, knives, and smoke grenades, for that matter.

Amruen was just waiting for the right time, a time when riots and revolts would be commonplace. A perfect time to unleash his fury not just on the Peacekeepers of his District but also the Capitol itself. He was confident that if there was to be a major rebellion, he would be able to find some way to get there and get his revenge, and kill the evil men that killed his parents. And of course, the insane man that had ordered it, which was most likely the President himself.

At least, that was what Amruen always told himself.

While he managed to avoid owning a television due to living as far away from the Capitol's reach as possible without leaving his District, he had heard one of the peacekeepers remark about reaping day yesterday. _Was it today?_ He thought.

After a few minutes of firing his guns at some targets and reloading them with some ammunition he had been stockpiling, Amruen went to a closet in the basement away from the training area. Inside were all of his protest signs against the Capitol. He had had a bullhorn, but that had been taken away from him when he had been arrested yesterday for shouting "The Capitol makes orphans!" in the square.

Until he could actually join in the rebellion-whenever it came-Amruen was content with simply yelling out his hatred of the Capitol. Sometimes the peacekeepers would arrest him, and other times they would simply leave him alone when it seemed that no one was listening to him or when they had other things to do. To them, he was mostly harmless because all he did was yell at them and say what was technically on everyone else's mind. In other districts Amruen may not have been so lucky, but here all they could do was detain him for a week at the most, due to the small prisons and high amount of petty criminals. They simply swallowed him up and regirgitated him with little afterthought. Nor did they know anything about his stockpile of weapons yet, although a few times Amruen had missed reaping day and they had almost discovered them. They had been too busy trying to get him to the square to bother with searching his basement.

Amruen took his sign and walked the few miles it would take for him to get to the square. It was a long walk, but hopefully it would all be worth it. On past reaping days he had considered this, but each time he was able to realize that he wasn't ready to challenge the Capitol when all of Panem was watching. Now, however, he was strong enough to put up a fight. Now was his chance.

As he marched on through the wheat fields to the square, Amruen tried to suppress the nagging thought that whispered in his brain. It told him the real reason that he had never done this earlier. It told him the real reason why he didn't feel like ever using those guns on a peacekeeper. And it gnawed at his mind so much that Amruen broke into a run, hoping to grow too exhausted for the thought to feed off of him.

But outrunning one's fear is impossible.

. . . . .

**AN: We're jumping back into the past for a bit here. Amruen's POV was the morning of the reaping day, and this one is the night before reaping day.**

Whereas Amruen had been made into an amateur revolutionary by the Capitol, Noelle Valade's tragedy had come from a source much closer to her heart. She had not been attacked, but instead she was betrayed.

She let her fingertips brush the fields of grain as she followed a trail of them that had been cut down to make a road, the road that led to the house of bliss and temporary distraction.

_Ivan._ The name seemed to ignite a fire of hatred in her heart. It was the name of her ex-friend, the one that had spurned her for the company of others, a group of violent lowlifes with no purpose other than destruction.

In what seemed like eons ago, they had been the closest of friends, the epitome of happiness. Noelle had been a friendlier person then, and much more sociable and trusting of people. She wasn't naïve or blind to dangerous people, but she was able to appreciate acts of kindness. At 8 their friendship became more inclusive; a brother and sister named Vernon and Xalia, respectively, shared in their happiness. Noelle had been so young at the time—around 6 when she first met Ivan-so looking back Noelle presume that it wasn't Ivan's betrayal but her own childishness that made her so different from the way she was now.

But try as she might ignore it, Ivan was the one that had made her this way. He began to spend less time with her and more time with a gang of petty criminals, mostly pickpockets and grain smugglers. What appeal he saw in a life of crime, Noelle wasn't sure. Maybe it was the extra money or some sort of thrill. But what angered her most was not what he had left her for, but the fateful day when he chose them over her.

At one point some fools in this so-called gang informed Ivan that he had to pick between his friends and his criminal associates. After some last few hours with Noelle and the others, Ivan announced to them that he "had to" part with them. After this last outing Noelle rarely saw him again, and when she did run into him from time to time her heart was too broken for her to want to speak to him.

But although Ivan was gone from her life, his memory still lingered, and Noelle's blood boiled every time she thought of him and his selfishness. She could forget him about as easily as she could forgive him.

So it became an obsession with Noelle to keep Ivan off of her mind. Sometimes she let her imagination run wild and drew things and wrote stuff, but unlike Mohan they weren't happy stories with magical creatures and happy endings—and they usually weren't appropriate for children, either.

Finally arriving at the house she wanted to be at, Noelle knocked at the door repeatedly until she was answered. The person who opened it was Xalia Calussa, the former friend that Ivan had turned into a frenemy.

"I want to see Vernon," Noelle demanded. Xalia scowled at her and rolled her eyes.

"I'm getting so tired of this," she snapped back at her. "What if he wasn't here, huh?"

"So he is here, then?" Noelle inferred.

"Sigh. Yes, he's here! Just do what you want with him and get out," Xalia replied angrily.

"Thanks," Noelle said casually, ignoring Xalia's contempt.

"When will you stop doing this?" Xalia pleaded. "Can't you just get over it? Sure, Ivan was an asshole, but you're going to become a bigger one if you keep this up!"

"You're just jealous that I have a boyfriend and you don't," Noelle insisted, striding deeper into the house to search for Vernon.

"You can have my _brother, _Noelle. I just don't want you treating him as a substitute for everything you lack so that you can make yourself feel better!" Xalia called as Noelle disappeared into another room.

Vernon smiled in sympathy as Noelle barged in. He was used to this, and it was pretty fun—until he remembered why Noelle was here and how she felt about all this.

"Give me a few minutes," he told her.

Later, when it was all over and Noelle was dressing to go back home, Vernon asked, "When will you get over this? I mean, you don't have to anytime soon if you don't want to, but…"

"You don't have to feel guilty," Noelle reassured him. "You and all those other boys are everything Ivan couldn't be. You all love me, at least for a little while."

"Other boys?" Vernon asked, rubbing the place on his forehead where he had a scar. He had acquired it when he had tried to win Ivan back over to them. The argument quickly escalated into a fight, and since Vernon had been outnumbered it didn't go so well.

"What can I say?" Noelle asked, unashamed to admit it. "I can't trust anyone long enough to stay loyal to them alone. Not even you."

. . . . .

**AN: We're back to the morning of the reaping now.**

Noelle awoke to finding her mother, Cassia, staring down at her with a disappointed scowl, much like the contemptuous look Xalia had given her the night before.

"Noelle, _please_ get up. I don't know if you've been pretending to be sleeping or not, but it's reaping day. You don't have many years left to do this, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," Noelle muttered, ruffling her hair and going to the bathroom to take a shower and change.

"Were you where I think you were last night?" Cassia demanded angrily.

"Yeah, I was with Vernon. So?"

"_So?_ You can't just go around and turn yourself into a prostitute for every boy in the District! I can't even _begin _to tell you what sort of problems you could have!"

"Then don't!" Noelle snapped as closed her bathroom door.

Half an hour later she was at the square, waiting impatiently for this thing to be over. While she had been standing around with the other kids she had thought of a fascinating and morbid new story to write. It would be about a boy who didn't know where his loyalties lay…

"Noelle Valade!"

At the sound of her name Noelle realized that all the problems that had plagued her in the past were gone. Ivan was shoved to the back of her mind, now a faded memory. Xalia and Cassia's frustration with her were gone. Her past betrayal was gone; it mattered nothing anymore.

There was a 95.8% chance she had just been handed a death sentence. What did her past matter now?

As she walked up to the stage, she could see her brother Xadrian in the crowd, watching with tears in his eyes. At 21 he was too old to volunteer in her place. He was the only one that had shown her sympathy, rather than contempt, despite having little understanding of what she had gone through. But his kindness to her didn't matter anymore, either, Noelle tried to tell herself. But it was hard just the same. Noelle could also see her father and mother, too, but they seemed to be more shocked than upset. She would probably miss them, too, before she could even get to the Capitol.

Had she been more observant she would have noticed that no boy came up to the stage when the decidedly Russian-sounding name of Amruen Neversky was called out. She would have noticed the tall, pale boy with dark hair in jeans and a black hoodie far off to her right at one end of the square, who was now frozen in fear at the sound of his name. She would have noticed his knees shake as he was led up the stage, his sign taken away from him, and him timidly verifying that he was, as the peacekeepers had said, the boy they were looking for.

But instead, Noelle focused her attention on a nervous-looking man in his 20s that smiled and stretched out his hand for her to shake. He was obviously going to be her mentor, the way the Capitolite escort followed him around.

"I'm Ernest Howitzer. I'm here to give you…"

"Give me what? Advice?" Noelle said, feeling more uneasy than ever about any chance she had of winning.

"Yes. Sorry…this is my first year," he explained sheepishly.

"Well, it's mine, too," Noelle pointed out.

"Are you ok?" Ernest asked. "I know this might be a lot to take in, but…"

"But what?" Noelle asked. "I just figured out that everything I considered important about my life was all a lie." Ernest ignored her question, knowing that he couldn't possibly answer it.

**AN: I just had to shoehorn Ernest in somehow. Thanks to grimreaper1373 and Aspect of One for Amruen and Noelle, respectively.**

**Also, I did the Districts randomly. I swear I didn't mean to show you 3 orphans in a row!**

**Trivia question: What color is Kankri's blood?**

**Gray**

**Lime green**

**Indigo**

**Red **


	15. District 12 reapings: Snatched

District 12 reapings—Snatched

In some Districts, reaping day was a major event which one could spend one's whole life training for. In District 12, it just meant that 2 people were being sent to die. Katniss had just been a lucky fluke.

And so Lidda McGaffigan wasn't trying to learn how to fight or plotting rebellion against the Capitol; instead she was doing what she loved. Although the Capitol had made no attempt to shape her into something it desired, she herself did a lot of that sort of work on a daily basis.

But instead of working with people, Lidda worked with glass, taking the sand imported from 4, dyes imported from 8, machinery imported from 3 and 6, and occasionally gems imported from 1 to make nice and somewhat practical things for 12. In a District that was generally considered by even its residents to be quite dirty and ugly, Lidda had an eye for beauty, and with glassmaking you could coax it out to brighten the hearts of the weary people around here by giving them dazzling jugs, bottles and vases—and on rare occasions, windows and figurines- full of life and color. Lidda remembered this to reassure herself that her work was important, in its own unique way.

"Dammit!" she cried as her fingertips were nearly singed from a spark in the heating furnace. In other Districts an assembly line would likely be sending raw materials to be melted in a furnace, but in 12 there was no such luxury.

"What happened? Did you find some little fucker trying to plant drugs in here again?" Henri, her uncle who ran the glassmaking store, called out from another room where he was trying to shape the glass.

"Hell, no! Furnace tried to murder my fingers again!" Lidda replied over the noise of production.

"Ash!" Henri called out, too busy with his own work to assist her. Ash was his 19 year-old apprentice who was practically an extra family member for Lidda.

"I'm going, I'm going, jeez!" Ash cried, getting some burn-soothing medicine for Lidda.

"What gives? I just said the furnace tried to kill me, but you let it go and tend to me?!" Lidda asked. "I'm fine, go do something about that dick of a furnace!"

"Can't," Ash replied as he attempted to treat Lidda's burn. It was a minor thing and would heal quickly. "Henri was too much of a lazy ass to teach me how to regulate it."

Lidda groaned. "Henri, get your panties out of ass crack and teach us how to use that thing when you have a chance!" Henri and Ash laughed.

"What? I meant it."

Minutes later the group switched roles, and it was Lidda's turn to get the dyes in the glass objects. This job was much easier than shaping, which was what Ash was doing right now, and much safer than melting, so naturally it was Lidda's favorite.

Checking some shorthand notes that Henri had left for her, Lidda continued with the pattern that her uncle had said. The mayor's wife's assistant had apparently requested that she get a vase _exactly _to her specifications. Lidda did as was required of her and then went back to her pet project.

Her goal was to make a stained-glass window depicting a self-portrait of her, walking on a rainbow bridge from one side of the window to the other. She hadn't decided where on the bridge she would be, but she was just about done with the rainbow. All she needed was purple, but apparently that dye was expensive and so it was usually reserved for the needs of customers. The whole image didn't have any significance for her, she just wanted to make it to show that she could. Since there was some sky blue dye left over from the vase, Lidda used it to try and finish up the background of the window. The self-portrait part was complete, but there were still a few things missing.

"What the fuck? Are you working on that shit some more?" Ash teased, stifling a chuckle. Most girls Lidda's age would have been offended, but Lidda's hands and her mouth had been roughened by working here. Henri had been a great teacher.

"Better than your crap!" Lidda countered. "If it weren't for Henri you'd probably be on the streets as a thief or some shit. And you still suck worse than all of us!"

"I'll be sure to remember that when _I _get the bigger cut from Henri on payday," Ash replied.

"Aw, hell, no! I'm better than you!" Lidda insisted.

"Really, now? Then how come I'm getting more money?"

"Because you're making what Henri wants, and no art on the side. It's a fair trade, I guess." Henri shut off the furnace and went over to his employees.

"Ok, you two, that's great and all, but really, you can stop bitching at each other. We have more orders to fill. Lidda, thanks for not using the orange dye this time. You've really come a long way from being that asshole mistake of your mom's."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to tell her that, you jerk!" Lidda replied. Her mother Bryony had been pregnant with her as a teen and was too uneducated and frail to get a job, so Henri had taken her under his wing at the glassmaking store. He had also taught her how to keep her tongue untamed. Since the three of them were alike in terms of having a fondness for vulgarity, they took most insults directed at each with a grain of sand—a vital resource in their business.

. . . . .

Hours later, the glassmaking store closed as the sun began to set on District 12. People went home early to get a good night's sleep in preparation for reaping day. Save for 3 boys that sneaked through the night to the store. One of them, the cleverest of the bunch, withdrew a sewing needle to pick the lock. A hairpin would have sufficed, but such a thing was far too effeminate, not that the boy was extremely masculine or anything.

"Hurry up!" Cerk Mondlas rasped. He wasn't into the whole petty crime thing, only doing it for protection from criminals, who would see him as one of their own.

"Shut up! Rocko's workin'," Ronnie Bentwon scolded his associate. He was in this because to him it seemed like a good way to be on top while technically being on the bottom.

"If you two _gentlemen _would kindly hand me another needle, I can solve our predicament—a mild one, I might add—and we can get inside." The minions obeyed Rocko Warner and handed him another needle. The lock was picked and the three crept inside.

"How will we know what will sell good and what's junk?" Cerk asked a bit too loudly. Rocko glared at him.

"I think I can discern sheets of glass from works of art," Rocko reassured him, a bit offended that Cerk had even asked the question. "Now, would you two search this room while I go observe the ones in the back? Take what you think is useful for our purposes and show it to me so that I can appraise it."

"Since when were you a glass expert?" Cerk demanded.

"Since always," Ronnie replied for Rocko. Their leader snickered and went back to where Lidda had left her art project.

"Unfinished, yes. But certainly very exquisite and beautiful," Rocko remarked aloud. He had a tendency to mutter to himself rather than keeping his thoughts confined inside his head. "But did she have to make a rainbow? That's an incredibly clichéd way to incorporate so many colors. And yet…it's nice. Perhaps nice enough already to be taken." Rocko gently lifted the image with both hands and carried it out to meet the others.

After observing all of the glass objects his associates had gathered, Rocko and his associates took what he had found valuable and left. Cerk and Ronnie went back home, but Rocko made his way to the Hob and waited for a shady-looking individual to appear. Rocko silently gave him Lidda's glass, and the person gave quietly gave him a wad of cash in exchange.

"Really?" Rocko whispered, unsatisfied with his amount. "This is piece is far too good to be sold with the same price as a dozen loaves of crusty bread! This is art! This is beauty! This is…"

"As high as I'll go," the shady merchant insisted. Rocko sighed.

"One day, the art world may condemn you. But fortunately for you, I'm no artist; merely a thief." Rocko made a motion as if he were about to leave, but as the shady merchant turned his back to him go someplace else Rocko quickly spun around, grabbed the man and pointed the blade of a knife he had been concealing at his throat.

"However, thieves often require substantial amounts of money for their work. And they can't garner it as well as artists can. So do you know how they provide for themselves?" the shady merchant handed Rocko more money and was released, scurrying away as soon as he was free. Rocko smirked as the figure disappeared into the shadows.

. . . . .

Getting home had been no problem. Nor had convincing his parents that he had been at the soup kitchen been difficult, either. They were generally clueless, although Rocko sometimes worried that his mother knew too much. The next day, however, was a major problem, and not just because he found himself being reaped.

"A shame we have to meet," Rocko told his escort, "Especially in this manner." It was hard for her to hear him over the cries of, "Hey, the seam-snatcher's been reaped!" Upon hearing this, the escort looked at Katniss.

"Is there something wrong? Am I too inarticulate?" Rocko asked cynically. The Capitolite looked at Rocko and smiled, but he could tell she was trying not to turn it into a frown.

"Well…I hope you won't be too uncomfortable in the Capitol!" she said finally. Rocko could tell she just said that because she had no idea what else to say.

"And now for the girls…Lidda McGaffigan!" she cried. There was a gasp from a small, stocky 12 year old girl in a pink dress and a ridiculous bow.

"What?! Me?! No!? Let me go, you bastards! I'm not gonna be a pawn in your fucking slaughterfest! Get your shit-stained hands off of me, you motherfuckers!" Lidda cried as she tried to squirm out of the Peacekeepers' grasp. But eventually Lidda realized it was pointless.

. . . . .

When they were no longer in the watchful eyes of the cameras, Effie Trinket began her scolding.

"Now, Lidda, dear, I know we've just met, and I may not be aware of the circumstances of your upbringing, but it's never right to curse, especially on national television! I don't believe I've ever seen such—!"

"Cease and desist immediately," Rocko snapped back. "There's no point for a detached individual like yourself to so much as grasp the sort of mindset she has." Haymitch sauntered over and chuckled.

"Couldn't have set it better myself, kid. Or should I say, Rocko, that's your name, right?" the thief nodded.

"Like to talk fancy, I noticed. That's kinda cool. Not like my last thief," Haymitch said.

"And you're Katniss!" Lidda gasped as the other mentor came over to meet her first set of tributes. "I'm nothing like you at all! Don't turn me into you! If I'm gonna killed, I at least wanna be myself and not some depressed loser! No offense." Katniss sighed.

"Everyone," she began, "I know that none of us will be able to completely get used to each other. But this is my first year of mentoring, and…I want it to go as well as possible. I know that District 12 isn't exactly synonymous with 'Victor' or 'Career' but I want all of you to know that I'm done moping about my past. It's time for me to move on and help tributes at least stand a chance in the Games. And I feel privileged that you two are my first." Lidda and Effie managed a smile, and Rocko shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Now then, let's all board the train!" Effie declared. "I know that this is something that none of us really want to do, but…we'll just make the best of it, won't we?" The others didn't reply, following her to the train.

**AN: Christoph Andretti and MeddlingArtist for Rocko and Lidda, respectively! I'm really glad that they're not clones of Katniss or Peeta XD**

**Trivia question: Which of these Felt members has no troll to match?**

**Crowbar**

**Sawbuck**

**Clover**

**Doze**


	16. District 10 reapings--Adaptations

District 10 reapings—

Matthew Jorkis awoke to the sound of a bell ringing. He quickly slipped on jeans and a t-shirt and made his way to the kitchen, where his father Daniel was holding the front door ajar, waiting for him. His stepmother Isla sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast.

"Need ya to eat quick now," Daniel warned. "One a' the mares is expectin' to give birth soon. Mister Capris heard her makin' all kinds a' ruckus last night."

"Huh? Wouldn't've guessed we'd be doin' that, ever," Matthew replied. "Just let me eat."

"Ok, son, just hurry now. Don't wanna make Mister Capris mad." Daniel closed the door and went outside to his carriage, waiting for Matthew to join him.

"You don't have to rush if you don't want to, sugar," Isla urged.

"No, gotta do what Pop wants. You ever seen a mare give birth?" Isla replied that she hadn't.

"I only seen it once, but there's somethin' folks like Pop and me can do to help make it a bit less painful for the mare, I reckon. You wouldn't understand; you never had to work." Isla looked a little hurt, but it was true; she had never worked a day in her life. It was just another way in which she felt so distant from Matthew despite having lived with him for a little over 12 years now. He was difficult to develop a bond with due to his trust issues; anyone outside the biological family had to work hard to prove to him that they had his interests at heart rather than their own. For his part, Matthew was aware of his problem, but to him it was justifiable. Most people were inherently bad, and they could do harm to him and his loved ones at any moment.

"There's nothin' wrong with you not workin'," Matthew reassured her. The trust he had for Isla had developed very slowly over the years, and now it had gotten to the point where he considered her to be a member of the family. "I thought it was cuz' you just didn't want to carry your own weight, but I know better now. You just wanted to care for Kathleen. And that's a pretty damn important job. I know it don't put bread on the table, but I've _always _appreciated you for it." Kathleen was Matthew's younger sister. She had been born shortly after Daniel had married another woman; Matthew's biological mother had died. She had cared for his half-sister, who had been born small and sickly, but also had made sure to make him realize that she saw him as her child as well.

"Thanks, darling, that's mighty sweet of you. You wanna see her before you go to work?"

"Naw, she's asleep," Matthew answered. "You just be sure and save some eggs and bacon for her. She needs the protein." And with that Matthew kissed his stepmother goodbye and headed out the door.

"Good, ya didn't take too long. Now let's get!" Daniel cried, whipping the horses to get them going. About half an hour later they arrived at the Capris farm, and sure enough there was a horse lying in one of the fields, whinnying in pain. Mr. Capris stood nervously on the sidelines as his son Phillip—Matthew's only real friend—was attempting to console her. Matthew and Daniel immediately climbed out of their carriage and bounded over a fence to reach the mare.

"Watch her legs!" Daniel told Matthew. The foal was emerging legs-first at a sluggish pace. The Jorkises job was to try and get the foal out faster. They started with a gentle tug on the foal's legs, but the mare flailed wildly when she realized that her child was being handled by humans. Matthew and Daniel noticed and Phillip tried to hold her down, but a stray kick hit Daniel in his left thigh, sending him reeling in pain.

"Pop! You okay?" Matthew called out as Daniel limped away from the mare.

"I'll be fine, son. But I can't walk real well. Gonna be sore a few days," Daniel said, feeling helpless and ashamed that he was out of commission. Matthew was strong, but he couldn't quite get the foal out alone.

"Get somebody to help me, quick!" Matthew commanded Phillip. "I just need a little more help pulling out the rest of his legs, and then the foal should come out just fine." Phillip went off to go search for a suitable farmhand.

. . . . .

Julia Kellson was in the chicken coop, gathering the eggs that the hens had laid from the week before, lost in her thoughts, when Phillip burst in.

"What is it?" she asked, unaware of what was going on outside. She usually didn't handle horses.

"Matthew's out helping a mare give birth and he needs help!" Phillip explained rapidly.

"I don't know anything about that, I can't help!" Julia replied nervously. "If it's such a big deal then why don't you do it? Or are you to cowardly to get your hands dirty? How was your family even able to get all this land and livestock if they were too ignorant to know how to manage it?"

"Hey, I'm no coward! I just don't know about horses, that's all," Phillip snapped. "And my family isn't lazy, you take that back!" Julia's eyes widened, realizing what a stupid thing she had just said to her part-time employer's son.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that! I'll go help Matthew now! That ought to make it up to you," Julia said frantically, placing her basket of eggs down and heading out to the fields.

_Nice going, _she thought. _You just lost your family a few extra bucks. That could be important, and you screwed over. Couldn't keep your big mouth shut. Now you have to go and make amends. Unless you somehow offend the horse._

Julia found Matthew still trying to tug out the foal as its mother flailed about wildly, not understanding that he was just trying to help.

"Pet her on the mane a bit and then come help me pull out her foal!" Matthew ordered. Julia wasted no time and did as Matthew instructed. After a few gentle strokes the mare calmed down enough, and she went back around to help Matthew pull out the end of the foal's legs. A few seconds of their combined strength was enough for the foal to gently slip out of the mare's body. Matthew immediately grabbed Julia when it was over and fled the spot so that the mare could have room to nurse her child herself.

"Thanks. You were a big help," Matthew told her. "I know it didn't look like much and it probably wasn't something you wanted to do, but sometimes to get where you need to be you have to do things you're not comfortable with." Julia smiled warmly at the heartwarming sight of the foal already able to stand with a nudge and few licks from its mother. But Matthew's gaze was serious.

"Something's wrong," he declared. "Mr. Capris?"

"Yes, Matthew?" the owner of the farm asked. He had been standing on the sidelines the whole time and was relieved that this was over; he had even less experience than the Jorkises with horses giving birth.

"Has she ever had a foal before?"

"Not her, no. The other mares had some, but they all came out just fine. Why?"

"If she had trouble giving birth," Matthew began, staring at the mare some more. His eyes widened. "I think she can't lactate. See how the foal keeps moving his head under her? It's not getting any milk."

"Julia, go to the pantry and find some horse formula! Quick!" Mr. Capris ordered, handing her the keys. Julia went off again to retrieve it, and Matthew fed enough to the foal.

"Try and get some hormones shipped in," he advised Mr. Capris. "You might be able to get her lactating naturally that way, because if you don't then your formula supply could go down rapidly." Mr. Capris thanked Matthew again for his help. He and Daniel then proceeded to separate areas of the farm to go tend to other animals, which was what they usually did. Matthew was old enough not to need his father to constantly monitor him.

"Hey, could you help me with the eggs? I didn't finish," Julia told him. Matthew agreed and they went back to the chicken coop together.

"It's not fair for us!" Julia announced when they were inside. The clucking of the hens muffled her complaints.

"What is?" Matthew asked.

"They get to sit around while _we _do all the work! They get so much money and we only get a _tiny _salary from them! I've had to work multiple jobs because of their low wages. It's hard to provide for my family, even though most of us are old enough to work. It's not fair that they can go to bed every night without worrying about what to eat tomorrow while we Kellsons have to work hard for it!" Matthew frowned.

"Listen, Phillips' my buddy," he told her. "He was the only one that I could really connect with for a long while after my mom died. He's not lazy or cowardly, he works hard. He just ain't good with horses; he's more of a cattle person. You think it's easy for them? Phillip doesn't have a mom, or even a stepmom like me. His dad's been in debt for a while, and twice now they've almost considered selling this whole place. It would probably go to some Capitol brute that would pay even less than the Caprises do! They don't pay us a lot not because they don't like us; they can't afford to do it. It's not fair for them, either. You never have to worry about losing your home, I'll bet. Nobody'd want it. The Caprises have their worries, too, Julia. Julia?"

Upon hearing all this Julia sighed, trying to resist the lump forming in her throat.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why am I so insensitive?" Julia asked him. "I don't mean to insult people. I just tend to say what I think. I assume too much, don't I?"

"I dunno," Matthew replied as he went on collecting eggs. "I don't know you real well. Maybe you are, maybe you aren't. You figure it out yourself." Julia stood up and kept working with Matthew. He was right, she knew.

. . . . .

Minutes later Julia left the farm to go work at one of her other jobs. Matthew ran into Phillip as he was heading over to the sheep pen.

"Hey, Matt," Phillip said, "You hear what Julia called me?"

"The girl? I made a good guess," Matthew replied. "Listen, Phil, let her go for that. She doesn't mean much harm to anybody, despite what she says."

"Did you tell her about Isla? You told me she's got a way with kids. Maybe if one of the Kellsons was sick, she could come over and-?"

"No," Matthew replied a bit too forcefully. "There ain't no reason to hand over Isla to strangers, even if it's out of kindness. Who knows what they could ask of her? They could try and turn her into a second mother of theirs. No point to that. Besides, Kathleen needs her way more than they ever would," he insisted. Phillip shook his head.

"Sounds kinda harsh of you," he told his friend. "But I suppose you might be right. Of course, with that attitude I wonder how you were ever able to open up to Eve." Matthew's mind focused on her for a moment, and he smiled. Eve was his long-time girlfriend, and with kindness and patience she had shown Matthew that she wasn't hostile at all. With their respective fathers' consent, they had been dating for almost a year now, and Matthew had just recently proposed to her. He was capable of living alone, he knew, and Kathleen was safe with Isla. He could start a family, just like his father had before him. If nothing else, Matthew at least wanted to have a legacy. Maybe even a farm of his own, but that was probably wishful thinking.

"Matt? MATT?!" Phillip snapped his fingers to get Matthew out of his bliss.

"Sorry, bud. I'll go see if the sheepdogs are gettin' antsy," Matthew suggested. Phillip chuckled, knowing how badly in love his friend was. He and his own girlfriend Kaylee had been dating for just as long, but they weren't as serious. And Kaylee's father had no idea, either.

. . . . .

Julia awoke to the sound of two of her happy younger siblings, Liliana and Mick. They were both too young for the reaping, so they just saw this as a time to dress up and meet some friends. Julia knew very well what the reaping was actually about—she'd only been through one other one, but the look on those two kids' faces when they were reaped had been scary—and she figured it was best to let the kids dress her up. Julia let them help her put on the only dress she owned—despite being perfectly capable herself—and joined the rest of her family, who were all ready to go out. Breakfast was usually served after the reapings today.

"We heard what you did yesterday," Julia's mother Janelle remarked as she joined her family in the walk to the square. Julia blushed, thinking she was referring to her insensitive comments.

"I didn't know you were any good with horses!" her father Nikolus added, not noticing his daugther's now relieved features. "You should come and work with me on that other ranch sometime. It's full of them!"

"Yeah, we could use the extra help," her brother Remus added. He was only older than her by one year and she got along with him well. Of course, everyone in her family she had learned to at least tolerate.

"It was just a one-time thing," Julia replied humbly. So this was her punishment for yesterday's remarks, she thought. Working with horses for the rest of her life. Well, so long as the family was fed…

"That's not what you'll say the next time you help out the Caprises!" her older sister Freya remarked.

"Could we get ice cream after lunch today?" Callum asked, ignoring the way the conversation had been going. "I've been kind of hungry for it, and we're all so dressed up so we need something nice. Please, mom?"

"Sweetie, we can neither afford nor would think it wise to give you ice cream!" Janelle said, amused that her son had even asked that. He was 11, wasn't he too old for sweets?

Julia listened to her family talk amongst themselves all the way to the square until they had to separate for the reapings. And then…

"Julia Kellsoooooon!" the obnoxious escort called out as if he was announcing the name of a professional wrestler, not that Julia had ever heard of such a thing in District 10. She timidly walked up to the stage, her mind rushing with the possibilities of how to possibly make it out of hell alive.

"And the boy is…MATTHEW JORKIIIIIIIIIIIS!" the escort called out again. Julia nearly gasped. What were the odds that a boy she had just talked to yesterday would be reaped? Had it been arranged somehow? But who would want to get rid of them?

"Well…" Matthew told her, tears in his eyes, "I guess we just have to…"

"I know. You told me yesterday," Julia replied, giving him a hug as he started to cry. "Sometimes you do things you're not comfortable with."

**AN: Thanks to Nori'sLilThief and someoneorother123 for Matthew and Julia, respectively. They may be the last shown, but they are certainly not least!**

**Now that I've done all the reapings, though, I need to take a break for just a bit. Now everybody calm down! It's just a little break. I have other fanfics that I need to finish/work on/start on, and I promise I'll be back to this soon enough. In the meantime, go and answer my poll as to which tribute is your favorite of the group! I'll only have the ones who's POV got shown, though. I plan to show the others during the train rides.**

**See, at first I thought I'd only be able to do one POV, but I later figured out I was able to squeeze two in there if I tried. But I promise, I'll show you Rex, Steele, and Denelle soon enough! And a little bit more of Copper…**

**Trivia question: Which of these fanfics is on hiatus?**

**A1: The Alpha Trolls' Session**

**A Better Metaphor**

**The Hat**

**Monster Story**


	17. District 3 train rides: Noiz from the TV

Train rides, District 3: Noiz from the TV

**Noiz Huxley**

The District 3 train car was just like the others; it consisted of several rooms, the first one being just a simple hallway with a door that opened only when the train had stopped to load and unload passengers. But even it was decorate with a rug and a soft couch in case one was in dire need of a place to sit down. The Capitolites wouldn't disallow luxury for even one second, Noiz observed as she saw her escort sitting at the aforementioned couch.

The others continued on. Past the threshold there was a hallway leading both left and right, with the tributes going left while the mentors went right. Glancing that way, Noiz could see that the far right end of the hall led to a dining room, while the left ended at what seemed to be a sort of living room with a television screen, more comfy seats, and a coffee table with a bowl of candy placed on it. The dining room and viewing room, as Noiz learned it was called, had no doors leading through them, but the other rooms on the other side of the hallway did. Noiz peered in each one, noticing that they all consisted of a canopy bed big enough to hold two people, and a fancy-looking bathroom tucked away past the view of the doorway.

"These must be our r-rooms," Mohan remarked.

"Eh, I suppose they couldn't have done much to make it more obvious," Noiz replied. Her scarf was placed over her mouth, but it didn't muffle her speech. "Let's go eat now, I didn't have much this morning."

"Me, neither," Mohan said. "We usually don't have b-breakfast at home until after the reapings. I'm only 12, so…I'm kinda new at the whole reaping thing. I didn't seem weird, did I?"

"Relax, Book Guru!" Noiz reassured him. "You did fine. Much better than the poor saps last year. Some pair of nerds that wouldn't stop shaking. Since you weren't sobbing, people will think you're adorable."

"What about you?" Mohan asked as they briefly went into the viewing room to grab some candy with their upcoming dinner. "How do you think y-_you_ did?"

"I don't want them thinking much of me," Noiz said, "Them" being the Capitolites. "I wasn't noticed much before, and I don't want things to change like that now. I just want to try and be myself—quiet and mysterious."

"Then you're not doing a very g-good job!" Mohan laughed as they went to dinner.

"Not right now, sure, but you'll see—or maybe you won't. But stick your nose in a book for one second and you'll definitely miss it for good," she warned him.

**Mohan Sim**

_She's kind of strange, _Mohan thought of Noiz, _But she wouldn't hurt me._

The two tributes went to the dining room to find their mentors and escort already there. The escort was wolfing down the various food lying about like some sort of omnivorous wolf, but the two mentors had their eyes on their tributes. Noiz lowered the scarf that had been covering her mouth to eat.

"I am Beetee," the male mentor said, "And this is Wiress." Beetee jerked his head towards her, evidently a nervous-looking and distraught woman. Mohan looked at Wiress to see why she wasn't speaking, and her eyes told him how sorry for him she felt.

"Nice to meet you, Nuts and Volts," Noiz told them with a smirk. "Too bad getting to meet you means being in the Hunger Games." The mentors weren't offended in the least by their respective nicknames because Noiz was simply using the ones she had heard Games commentators on TV use on occasion. Nevertheless there was a bit of silence, and Mohan presumed it was because Beetee wanted Wiress to speak. But it seemed like she didn't want to.

"Indeed," Beetee finally replied to Noiz as the group began eating, "But the fact that you both seem quite fine after hearing this news means we can get down to business. Noiz," he began, "Tell us about yourself. Nearly anything could be helpful for the Games, and we need to know as much about you as possible to try and determine how you can attempt to win." Mohan glanced at Noiz, smiling when he remembered how just seconds ago she claimed he would have been hard-pressed to learn anything about her. Now she was being told to say everything!

"What's the matter, Noiz? Worried about not being m-mysterious?" he asked her with a chuckle. Noiz turned to him and made some murmuring noises while her mouth was full, probably telling him not to make a smart-alecky comment. She swallowed her food and began.

"Well, I'm an orphan like Mohan, except I live—or used to live—with my uncle. I'm good at hiding, and most people in my District don't know a whole lot about me. Is that good enough?" she asked Beetee. Mohan could see him blink a few times before replying, as if Noiz had splashed a tiny amount of water in his eye.

"So you think you can hide in the Arena? That's usually possible to some degree every year. But how would you do it?"

"I'm pretty quick and light on my feet," Noiz explained. "Now go over to Mohan. I don't know what kind of talents he has. He likes books, though." Mohan blushed as all eyes focused on him. He didn't like being labelled as "that guy that _likes books_", but he could tell that Noiz just wanted the attention off of her. Since she was so adamant about being mysterious, he'd just have to compensate. He went on for a while about how his parents died when he was young and so his four grandparents had raised him, but when it came to himself all he could say was:

"I would read s-stories to the other orphans. They all seem to like them, so I guess I'm a pretty good story-teller." At this, Beetee snapped his fingers, apparently having just conceived an idea.

"These are mostly fictitious, correct?" Beetee inquired.

"Y-Yes," Mohan went on. "And they all like them because I give the stories happy endings and cheer them up."

"That just might help you," Beetee said, snapping his fingers again.

"How?" Mohan asked. "I can't hide or run away very well like Noiz. How would being entertaining help me when I'm s-surrounded by a bunch of Careers? Do I just bore them to death?" He looked at Noiz for help, but she was too busy eating. _She was so clever to get the attention off of her just like that, _he thought. _Or maybe they've dismissed her as having a chance already. Or does she want it that way?_

"If you're able to make up stories on the spot," Wiress spoke up, "Then you should be able to lie on the spot as well. If you get into an alliance, you can fool your allies into thinking that you're perfectly harmless, and gain their trust. You can have them defeat nearly everyone for you, and then betray them in the end."

"Exactly, Wiress!" Beetee nodded heartily in agreement. "Mohan, if there's any conceivable way to practice lying, attempt it." Mohan nervously bit into an apple, pondering the strategy that his mentors had picked for him. Was he even _capable _of lying? Sure, there had been a few times in his life where he had given little lies, but nothing involving matters of life and death. Could he tell a lie to have someone killed? What about to save them from being killed? Or to save himself?

"I don't know if I can d-do that," Mohan said, swallowing nervously. "But if you think that's what I should do, then I'll t-try."

"Now, as for you, Noiz," Beetee added, swiftly turning to look at her as if they had never been cut off, "You should simply remain in the shadows, killing and stealing only discreetly, if at all."

"And both of you, remember to stay under the radar," Wiress urged. "If you can survive the bloodbath, see to it that no one sees either of you as a threat. That was how Beetee and I won our Games."

After that, there was no much discussion of the Games and strategies. It went unspoken that Noiz's angle at the interviews would be mysterious, and Mohan's would be to just be bright for his age. After dinner everyone retired to their rooms except for the tributes, who went to the viewing room to watch the recap of the reapings. As Noiz turned the TV on and fast-forwarded through the Panem anthem and drawn-out intro, he asked her:

"Do you think I could l-lie? Like they want me to?"

"Sure, you could! It's not hard at all, once you get the hang of it," Noiz reassured him. "Had to learn how to lie effectively to both my uncle and Peacekeepers, about different things, of course. Trust me, nobody would suspect a sweet kid like you. In a way, you're more mysterious than I am since everybody _knows _as soon as they meet me that it's kind of my thing. Now are you gonna watch this with me or not?"

"Sure. I want to see all the n-nicknames you give them!" Mohan replied.

"That's the spirit, Book Guru!" Noiz patted him on the back in approval.

_Maybe Nekka was on to something, _Mohan thought briefly between bursts of laughter as Noiz kept making commentary on the other tributes. _I guess I already have the innocent side down. Maybe now I just need to be savvy. And if lying's the way to do it, then it's my only choice._

**Noiz Huxley**

"Ok, this is gonna be fun! I can tell already by the way that they're going on and on!" Noiz told Mohan. She unmuted the TV to see what the commentators were discussing.

"You know, if Mika Tiddles had just swung her sword to the left," an announcer was saying over footage from the previous Games, "Then she would have had a good chance of winning. The other 3 tributes besides Julio were nearly dead, anyway."

"And maybe if she her parents had given her a better name, she wouldn't have had such low self-esteem," Noiz added. Mohan laughed at the hypocrisy of it all.

"But your name's N-Noiz! I'd take Mika Tiddles over that any day!" Mohan replied.

"Shh," Noiz replied. "Gotta listen to them. My name's cooler and you know it!" The truth was that Noiz had been given her name from her parents in a tongue-in-cheek manner, when she had screamed and cried so much as a baby. _What they been thinking?_ She thought to herself. _Why did they give me a name that wouldn't stick past infancy? Why did they want to waste long hours at the factories just for a little extra money? Why did they let themselves get killed in that fire?_

"Noiz?" Mohan asked, waving a hand in front of her. She snapped out of her thoughts before they got too heavy.

"Thanks," she told him. "These tributes aren't going to nickname themselves!"

The Districts were arranged in order, with no commentary on the reapings. The only sound was whatever the microphones in the area had picked up. Here it was just raw footage, not to be added in until after the Games had passed.

"What do you think of h-him?" Mohan asked, pointing to a muscular boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Noiz could immediately tell that he had never seen misfortune or poverty. He was smiling as he walked up to the stage, clearly overconfident in his abilities. Noiz nearly choked on her candy from laughter when the audio came on she could hear the squeals of dozens of girls, most of them clearly younger than this guy. And then what he had the gall to say: "Rex Adamas, at your service!" Noiz immediately came up with a response:

"As a prostitute, though," she replied, trying to impersonate Rex. "Don't worry, my fangirls are all virgins. I'm too perfect to let them touch me. I'd much rather have a fat Capitolite with a lot of money instead!" Mohan laughed as his cheeks turned red. Noiz's joke was almost unsuitable for his ears.

"What are you going to c-call him?" Mohan asked.

"Hotshot," Noiz replied. It fit, at least in her mind; Rex was clearly a cocky individual whose self-esteem had been bolstered by the high regard his parents and peers had held him in.

The next girl was cocky, too, but in a different way, Noiz noticed. Like Rex she was clearly well-fed and well-off, and she had volunteered, so she was obviously just as confident in her abilities. But Noiz could sense that this girl—Dorea Calis—was more aware of the fact that the Games were an event in which most people died. She seemed to understand that there was more to winning than brute strength. Noiz was impressed—Dorea clearly didn't have to be mysterious or hide herself in order to survive, she could fight with the best of them—but she still thought it was funny the way Dorea was trying to bore into Rex with those eyes of hers. She was trying to learn as much as she could about him from appearances alone, just like Noiz was, but she didn't do a very good job of being discreet about it.

"Ok, Dorea, little miss mayor's daughter," Noiz told the TV, "I'm going to call you Scanner. Those eyes you have are perfect for it. Mohan, don't you think if she died we could probably get her eyes made into security scanners back in 3?" Mohan nodded and kept watching. Guess he wasn't into dark humor.

But all the jokes went away when she saw District 2. There wasn't much material she had to go on. All she could tell so far was that the two blondes of District 2 were up to something. The girl with the scar on her face was reaped, and then the boy immediately volunteered. Like Dorea, they too had their eyes fixed on each other, but they weren't sizing each other up. So what was it instead?

"What about these two? What's up w-with them?" Mohan asked her.

"The guy hates her," Noiz explained, her analysis little more than a guess, "And the girl knows it. And she won't back down. She's a tough one, that Scarface. Scarface and—"

"And what, T-Tiberius?" Mohan asked.

"Danger Zone," Noiz decided. "He's Danger Zone. Just don't let him get to you, and you'll be fine. Scarface will take care of him." She thought momentarily of Tiberius; this guy was dangerous, clearly, but he seemed to be fixated on his District partner. Whatever she had done to hate him, Noiz didn't care. But she was pretty sure that if given the choice between Mohan and Steele, Tiberius would want to kill Steele. So as long as Steele stayed alive, Tiberius' wrath could be restrained.

"Hey, l-look, there's us!" Mohan cried as District 3's reapings were shown. "I guess they do it in order, huh?"

"Yeah. Those two won't last past the bloodbath!" Noiz joked, referring to themselves.

"I'm gonna call that girl Noiz," Mohan said. "She looks like a Noiz t-to me."

"Eh, I see where you're coming from. But you know, she looks like she doesn't talk all that much. Just when she needs to," Noiz replied before the two burst out laughing again.

"I'll bet we're having more f-fun than the others!" Mohan told her.

"They're probably all doing the same thing," Noiz pointed out. "Hopefully they skipped over us."

District 4 was next, and Noiz carefully looked at the brown, slightly bleached hair of the boy. His nose and lips were narrow and his cheekbones were high. Noiz looked back at Mohan and declared:

"I don't know if this means anything to you, but yours and his ancestors never, ever met. Ever."

"But does he do anything to g-give himself away?" Mohan said. Noiz looked hard. The boy seemed to be troubled by something, but whatever it was it probably wouldn't stop him from killing her if they ran into each other. Unless…Noiz's mind raced for a moment before a devilish grin painted itself on her face.

"No, he's just ol' Sadfish," she said seconds later, calming down. "Maybe you can turn his frown upside down." The girl, on the other hand, was unusual. She had been pulled up to the stage by the boy—Clyde Morissey—and her tanned skin and black hair made her contrast almost completely with Steele. And yet they had that same look in their eyes—that same "Why am I doing this?" look. Noiz could tell she, too, was thinking about something—but unlike Clyde, who just looked lost in thought, Thaleia seemed nervous underneath her gratitude that she was expressing to Clyde for having let her join him in the Games.

After a while, Noiz could pinpoint it; Thaleia was worried that someone would find out her weakness. But what weakness did Careers like her have? She wouldn't kill on Sundays or something?

"Huh, so Clyde chose her to be his District p-partner?" Mohan wondered aloud. "Is that even allowed?"

"It is now. Maybe Sadfish thought Bubbles would be an easy target," Noiz suggested. "And they both seem kinda wishy-washy to me."

"Just because they're District 4 doesn't mean you have to g-give them aquatic nicknames," Mohan pointed out.

"It's easier that way," Noiz insisted.

District 5 brought forth a muscular brown-haired girl and a…boy. That was all Noiz could really say.

"She's tough," Noiz pointed out. "And snarky," she added upon hearing some of her remarks. Riley was clearly defiant and tough, a good anti-Career if Noiz ever saw one. But even though she was _able_ to kill, it didn't mean that she always _would. _Perhaps Riley could be a valuable asset.

"The boy seems really nice and polite," Mohan said. "N-Nothing too special about him."

"Yeah," Noiz agreed half-heartedly. She could see another layer beneath this Copper fellow, but not much. It was like trying to guess who a person was when you only saw their ear. But Noiz felt confident that she could see the rest of him soon; the pieces of his covering—and what that consisted of she wasn't so sure—was beginning to crack.

"He's Crackles," she told Mohan. "And she's Snarkfist."

"I like Snarkfist, but C-Crackles?"

"I dunno."

District 6 amused both Noiz and Mohan. There was a blonde boy a little on the short side—although he was technically taller than Mohan—and a girl that looked like she was pissed.

"The boy's eyes are darting around, like he's curious," Mohan said. "Like thatm- monkey in the book. Curious George."

"He doesn't look much like a monkey, but ok, George it is!" Noiz declared. Darius probably had some useful skills, Noiz reasoned, but he was only worth taking under consideration if he survived the bloodbath. Well, and if she did, too.

"And we shall call the girl Madame," Noiz went on. "Look how stuffy she looks. And I thought Dorea would be the one like that, but this poor girl didn't expect her reaping!" Noiz could see that Elodie was distraught at not having things go her way, but she wasn't sure how someone like her would be able to respond to it.

"I think her name is Elodie K-Kruger," Mohan said, listening carefully to Elodie when she had said her name.

District 7 had a girl who's eyes looked a bit red from crying.

"She's Griefer," Noiz immediately decided.

"She looks kind of t-tough, though," Mohan added. "You think I could trust her?" Noiz shrugged. Cecilia was clearly hiding her prowess, but was her emotion genuine?

"The boy I'm pretty sure about, though," Noiz said. "You couldn't trust him as far as you could throw him. Plus he's kinda big anyway, so I doubt either of us could throw him. And why would you trust a guy who had smuggled a snake on the train?"

"He has a s-snake for his token?!" Mohan exclaimed in surprise. Noiz rewinded the footage and pointed it out. All that could be seen were a few scales and the flash of a head, for just a brief moment. Evidently the cameras didn't find it worthy to observe. Noiz's head raced with conclusions: Snake=Likes wilderness=survivor. Meanie=punk=dangerous. If he wasn't killed by a bigger, stronger tribute than Dade could be a problem for her.

"Snakepunk and Griefer," Noiz declared. "Who's next?"

District 8 made Noiz smile. It was a really happy girl with yellow hair and a yellow outfit, and a sharply dressed boy not much older than Mohan. The girl was hugging him, clearly too happy for her own good. While Noiz found her motherly attitude repulsive, she knew that someone else could benefit from friendly people.

"I think we've just found your friends, FF and Smiley!" Noiz told him. Mohan's eyes lit up.

"So you m-mean I can get in an alliance with them?" he asked her. Noiz gave a thumbs up.

"Just be ready to ditch them if you need to," she warned. Suddenly, she remembered something and rewinded.

"Wait, wait, what was that name?" Noiz asked aloud.

"The boy was T-Thomas Kerr," Mohan informed her. Noiz gasped.

"It's him! I had to wire some money to one of his family's employees!" she cried.

"Wiring m-money? Employees? What are you talking about?" Mohan asked.

"I'm sorry, but it's really none of your business," Noiz told him. "Just…let me be mysterious, okay?"

"Okay," Mohan said with a smile. They said no more of the matter. Thinking about the wiring job she had done yesterday, Thomas was probably a smooth talker. You had to be if you wanted to run a criminal organization and pretend it was a legitimate business, right? The Kerrs had quite the representative in him. How could you say no to him? Hopefully Noiz would find a way, and she prayed fervently that Thomas wouldn't have already known her from their brief association.

District 9 had a dark-haired, huge boy that was really more of a man, and a girl who's hair looked tough to manage and looked pretty upset about being reaped.

"Amruen Nerversk-sky," Mohan said, repeating the boy's name.

"What? Don't tell me you have a history with him," Noiz said.

"No, no. His name is Russian," Mohan informed her. "You can tell by the "sky" s-suffix."

"How can his name be rushing?" she asked. "What do those weird books tell you?"

"No, see, Russia is this p-place, and…" Mohan began, but then he seemed to change his mind. Perhaps she just wasn't good enough to know about Russia, Noiz figured.

"Well, the girl is going to be Loosey," Noiz declared. "Her hair is all styled because she hasn't gotten it cut. Maybe they don't have many hair salons in 9. Or 3, for that matter. And the boy needs something from his culture. Give me a Russian word," she demanded of Mohan.

"Uh…I don't know any," he replied. "Well, I think 'No' in their language is something like… 'N-Nyet'?"

"Ok, we'll just call him Nyet," Noiz said, a bit dissatisfied with her nicknames for these two. She was beginning to question giving nicknames based on first impressions. After all, her friends had only gotten their nicknames after she had known them for about a week. She only had a few seconds with these people, at least for now.

As for the tributes, Amruen was clearly a Capitol-hating rebel. The way the reapings had depicted his abrupt abduction by the peacekeepers was evidence to that. She thought it best to steer clear of him. The Capitol would try and take him out with some mutts or something, if he didn't try to kill her first. Noiz was curious as to why Noelle was feeling the way she did, but she couldn't get much from her. Perhaps she would surprise her, though.

"Can we hurry this up?" Mohan yawned. "I kinda want to t-take a nap."

"Just 3 more Districts."

District 10 yielded a large, sandy-haired boy with a bit of muscle like Amruen had. Noiz stared at him for a bit before Mohan said:

"So? What's his nickname?"

"Farmhand," Noiz breathed. "And…to be honest, I think he's kind of hot," she added meekly. Mohan chuckled.

"So do you want to be in an alliance with h-him, then?"

"No! We'd never work. Look at the way he's looking at that other girl. It's like 'I don't trust ya enough to like ya' or something. Well, that, and the other girl is clearly much younger than him. Maybe she made a mistake to make him not like her. She'll be Oopsie for now," Noiz decided. This Julia girl clearly wasn't much of a threat, but Matthew looked pretty strong. And if he was so aloof to a girl that he had known before, then how would he treat her? Noiz could see it going badly. These two probably weren't worth her time.

District 11 brought forth a dark-skinned boy in a wide hat and another muscular girl, but less so than Snarkfist. She also had a lot of freckles, which was all Noiz felt she could go by. But it was also clear that the two knew each other from somewhere, just like the tributes from 10. Maybe that was common in the smaller, rural Districts.

"Hat and Spot," Noiz declared. "They get along, I can tell."

"Ok," Mohan said. "I'm just going to let you d-decide all the nicknames. It's nice just to see who I'm up against."

Teddy had a cynical look about him, Noiz decided, but she had no idea why he was wearing that hat. Pulse looked strong, but not exactly dangerous.

Last was District 12. Upon seeing the stocky 12 year old girl, both Noiz and Mohan immediately decided on "Unprepared".

"Guess you can't give the l-last guy a nickname," Mohan remarked when Rocko went to the stage.

"Looks like the Seam Snatcher made a name for himself back home," Noiz remarked. Rocko interested her in particular because he clearly had grown up on the streets like she had. She reminded him of Bolt, except this guy had made a career out of stealing, if his nickname was any indication. But was he her equal? Only time would tell. Still, he was worth considering to work with.

When the reapings were over, Mohan went to his room, saying something about looking outside to see what they were passing by. Noiz watched the reapings over again a few times, hoping that her nicknames had told her everything she would need to know about these people.

But she knew very well they hadn't. Further study would be required—and this time in complete silence.

**AN: Well…I've got some news that you might think is bad. Personally, though, I think it's good.**

**I'm going to be sporadically updating this as I try and finish up my other fanfics or put them at good temporary stopping points. But at some point I wanted to start working on this some more (I've got so many ideas for all this) but when I was working on the train rides…this happened.**

**I had planned on being able to show a bunch of different districts in just a few chapters, maybe by having 4 districts shown in just 2 parts. But I've realized now I'm not going to be able to do that.**

**So instead of having a few chapters of train rides like I had hoped, I'm going to need to split it up, and give several districts (maybe 6 at the most) POVs in the train rides separate chapters for each of their train rides.**

**On the one hand, this is good for me because I haven't been able to show all the characters that I want to and given you all the information you need about them. On the other hand, it means that it will take longer than I thought to get to the bloodbath, which I know is what a lot of you would much rather see.**

**Also, remember that Noiz's nicknames are just based on her first impressions. She's observant, but she can't discern everything from just appearances alone. So I don't want anybody saying, "Noiz is stupid! How dare she insult my tribute!" I was pretty much guaranteed the moment I accepted Noiz to use her as the analyst; she just had the perfect mindset for it. I hoped you liked her commentary here, and if you didn't…sorry. I couldn't make her be completely even-handed to each tribute, though, since some would stand out more to her than others. To clarify, Noiz normally wouldn't talk so much, but here I had to make her say a few things so she could hand out nicknames. Which were fun to make up, BTW, although most of them aren't quite accurate. Noiz COULD change her nicknames for people if she got to know them better, though.**

**Trivia question: Who won the Amazing Race in my TAR fanfic?**

**Zim and Gir**

**Robotnik and Grounder**

**Mario and Luigi**

**Vriska and Tavros**


	18. District 2 train rides: Mark of Abel

Train Rides, District 2: Mark of Abel

**Steeleia "Steele" Sharpe**

"Tell me everything about yourself that could help you win," Enobaria asked her, her tongue brushing against her inhuman teeth as she spoke. Steele was a little curious as to how she was able to talk normally with teeth like needles.

"Everything?" Steele repeated. Enobaria raised an eyebrow in interest, understanding that for her, "everything" meant things that might have been best left unsaid.

"Yes," Enobaria finished. Steele realized her hesitancy had peaked her mentor's curiosity. There was no backing out. But what would the people handling the cameras think?

"I was 5 when my parents decided that they wanted me to be a Career," she began.

"5?" Enobaria repeated in surprise, her needle teeth almost aligning in a grin of amusement. "I didn't start until I was 10. Is that it?"

"No. The point is that I didn't see much of them. I was raised by the Career Academy's headmaster, Belisarius. He had to be my parent because my real parents only saw me a Career."

"I don't quite see the problem," Enobaria admitted. "My parents saw me the same way. Such is the attitude parents have of their Careers."

"But do normal parents of Careers abandon them to the system, leaving them to fend for themselves?!" Steele challenged. "Do normal parents drop their kids off at 5 and leave them in the care of a man that only sees people as machines to build up and send out to the Capitol, in hopes of impressing them with their prodigy's lack of humanity?" Her voice faltered and softened at the end of her question.

"What you mean is, you don't want to be a monster," Enobaria concluded. "You don't want to be the Career that your parents wanted you to be." Steele nodded.

"But there's more to it," Steele insisted. "I _hate _the Career lifestyle. The way I was forced to be raised. So I want other people to know that you don't have to be a killing machine. I'm grateful to have worked in the system, but I want nothing more than to rebel against it, from the inside." Steele could see that Enobaria looked nervous when she had said that last bit.

"Steele, do you realize what you're implying?" she rasped, her voice a low whisper in hopes that the cameras wouldn't pick it up. Steele presumed they still would.

"Yes, I do. But it's not what you think," Steele insisted. "My goal is to look like a regular Career in terms of fighting abilities, but to have the heart and soul of a regular human being. I don't know if I can do it, to be honest. The Games will just have to be my test. I'm not trying to overthrow the Capitol. I just want to show people that just because you're a Career doesn't mean you have to be inhuman."

Enobaria relaxed a bit, but she still seemed troubled by what Steele had said. "You can still accept what you are," she told her. "I did. I know it may not be what you wanted in life, but I'd rather be a killing machine if it means that anyone that stands in my way can be disposed of. The more you fight it, Steele, the worst it gets."

Steele sighed and shook her head. "You don't understand. There's a little bit more I haven't told you. I didn't want to, because I didn't think you would believe me. Or if you did, you'd side with him."

"With who?" Enobaria asked.

"Want to know how I got this scar?" Steele asked.

**Flashback**

**Tiberius Townsend**

There was something wrong with Steeleia Sharpe. That much Tiberius knew.

On the surface, she was the same. She sparred with the others, spent lots of time at the training gym, ate minimally and spoke only when it was necessary. But it was those few words he had picked up, those few incidents in which he had seen her in action that made Tiberius realize exactly what her problem was.

The first time he had seen her behave in an unorthodox manner was when he was sparring with Rhode. Due to Tiberius' excellent prowess with the glaive, he was able to overwhelm Rhode while focusing on his surroundings at the same time; tougher opponents such as his brother required his full attention, however.

Ever since he had begun training as a Career Tiberius knew who Steele was; indeed, almost all the aspiring Careers did. Her parents had left her in the care of Belisarius, the headmaster of the Career Academy and manager of the facilities. And judging from her fighting abilities, Tiberius could see, he had raised her well.

He watched as she sparred with another girl about her size, striking and blocking with her sword with impressive precision. Although the other girl attacked far more aggressively, Steele kept calm, blocking as many strikes as she could. And the few that would have hit her, had this not been practice, weren't fatal such as a slash to the throat or a stab in the chest.

But then the end of the match came when Steele nudged her opponent's wrists with the handle of her sword (in real combat she would have likely stroke at them with her blade). Her opponent somewhat reflexively dropped her weapon—Tiberius recalled the days in which _he _had had that same problem—and Steele grabbed it. The other girl looked at her with terror, forgetting for a moment that this was just practice.

The custom in a practice match was for the Career that was "winning" to point the blade towards a vital area to imply that they would have killed their opponent already if this had been real. But instead Steele did the unthinkable: she handed the weapon she had snatched back to her opponent, and began again, this time giving a few remarks as to how she could beat her.

The acts themselves were harmless, Tiberius knew, but they had betrayed a part of Steele's nature. She refused to see these practice sparring sessions as examples of actual combat. In other words, she didn't treat the practice sessions as if they were real at all. While Tiberius knew that Steele couldn't possibly be stupid enough to hand her opponent their weapon back in the Arena, the fact that she had done so in a practice session made him realize how un-seriously she was taking this.

_And helping your opponent? Out of the question, _Tiberius thought. Another unwritten rule for Careers that you never gave your sparring partners advice; it was their job to learn from their own mistakes and teach themselves how to fight properly. Although there were instructors around willing to help the newest Careers, they only taught the basic handling of each weapon and how they were meant to harm the enemy. It was _your _job how to figure out how to use your weapon effectively, and if you found after a while that you couldn't use a certain weapon you simply moved on to another. That was how he and JT had learned to specialize in glaives and nanigatas; they had only been average with other weapons and knew that they needed something unique if they wanted to succeed, and they both considered it to be quite a privilege to be skilled in such an obscure weapon. But Steele was breaking Career tradition.

This incident in and of itself didn't make Tiberius despise Steele, although it did make him suspicious of her. But a small voice in his brain told him to approach this rationally and not get paranoid about this. So what if there was a Career that behaved differently from him and the others? Why did it matter?

_Any softness, any act of mercy, is a sign of weakness and could indicate a hesitancy to embrace the Career path, _Tiberius repeated in his mind as he ate lunch in the Academy's cafeteria later that day. _She may be able to defend herself, but she's not a true Career if she does not have the mind of one. Why is she so willing to demonstrate to her sympathetic side to her opponents? _To be fair, the girl Steele had sparred with couldn't be her opponent. But what if a similar girl from another District came along? Steele would likely treat her the same way. If she handed her weapon back in the Arena…the thought made Tiberius feel nauseous.

He glanced at her discreetly from his table as she stopped by another one to talk to some other Careers—not anyone Tiberius knew by name. He listened carefully to what she was talking about, trying to tune out the rest of the noise from the cafeteria. Hopefully her words would give him more clues about her.

"Hey, this is my spot…I usually sit here when I eat, alone." That was Steele. There was nothing wrong with a Career wishing to eat alone—some did on a regular basis—but no Career was adamant about having a specific spot. The seats and tables all looked alike, and if the one you liked was taken you went to another. Tiberius thought carefully to see if he could interpret the implications of this behavior.

_She wants a specific spot each and every day…it means she expects things to be orderly, routine. She has no tolerance for the unpredictable. A horrible thing to have in the Games. But we're trained not to have this. _Tiberius felt proud of himself for being able to interpret Steele's first words, but it made him more suspicious of Steele than ever. Shouldn't the Career lifestyle be more ingrained in her than in him if she had trained longer? And yet he was finding more and more evidence that it was not. Either Steele had trouble learning, or she deliberately discarded Career etiquette. It had to be the second one; she would have been kicked out of the Academy if it was clear that she was incapable of honing her combat skills.

"It's no big deal, just go somewhere else," a lesser that was already seated told her.

"Please, could you just scoot down a bit?" Steele pleaded. Tiberius smiled, his face fixed on his food so no one would know what he was amused at.

"You can sit with us if you want," another lesser suggested. "Although you probably won't get our inside jokes." Steele paused for a moment and replied:

"All right. I've been meaning to make some friends here. It's just that everybody's so aloof."

"We're trained to be killers, emotional attachments aren't our forte," a third lesser replied.

Tiberius clenched his fists, not at Steele's words in particular but in her reactions. Any normal Career, if they were that fixated on having a specific spot to eat at, would demand the other occupants to leave, and if they refused threaten them with a fight. Fighting, understandably, was allowed in the Career Academy at all times so long as it was fair—you couldn't go and smuggle a weapon from the gym to the dorms, but two unarmed combatants was perfectly acceptable. Avoiding damage to school property was also encouraged.

But Steele didn't seem to fight at all. She could at least be defiant about her spot, even if it was a stupid thing to be defiant about, and show any other Careers witnessing the event that she was not to be messed with. But instead she betrayed her unwillingness to fight by conceding to the people that had started this problem for her in the first place.

Tiberius reported his findings to his brother that night. His reaction wasn't surprising, but nevertheless he had been compelled to tell him.

"This isn't something you need to get worked up over," JT reassured him. "You're being a bit paranoid. The big problem seems to be that someone has found a way to circumvent Career social norms. She can't be the only one."

"Even so, she's the only one I know that's _open _about this sort of thing," Tiberius insisted. JT rolled his eyes.

"What exactly are you worried about, though? Are you worried _for _this girl? Do you _pity _her alleged ignorance—or willful suppression—of our rules?"

"No, of course not! I don't pity this girl at all," Tiberius insisted almost vehemently. "Or—have some sort of physical attraction to her, for that matter. I am as loyal to Chryssie as you are."

"Then what is it, then?" JT asked. Sometimes he wondered if his brother knew that they didn't have to both date the same girl. He had met her first, and he was tired of sharing her.

"I think she's a rebel of sorts," Tiberius explained. "By going against our rules—the Career beliefs—she's trying to subvert us! She wants us to resist the role her parents and the Capitol graciously thrust on her. She's fostering rebellion by trying to show people that they don't have to be like us. That's completely wrong!"

"Why don't you talk to her?" JT suggested, ignoring Tiberius' explanation of why Steele was dangerous. "Her motivations might be quite different from what you perceive them to be. Although…"

"Although what?" Tiberius asked.

"Although, I agree with you on the repugnancy of her practices. True Careers can't behave like her—if you've interpreted her behavior correctly. But there's one thing we differ on."

"What's that?"

"I express my dislike of Steele, and it is an opinion. Your views are the same, but you assert that they are facts."

"But they are!"

"Then you must make _her _believe that, not me."

So Tiberius did just that the next day. After finding a time in which Steele was isolated from others, he appeared in her path and swerved when she tried to go around him.

"We need to talk," he said gruffly.

"About what? You're Tiberius, right?" Steele asked. He could see that she was a bit nervous, as if she was worried she had just been found out for doing something wrong. Or, more specifically, if her inconsequential actions yesterday were bringing about a punishment today.

Which they were.

"Yes, I am. I've noticed how you're not like the rest of us."

"Y-you could say that. I've hardly ever seen my parents, and Belisarius is an inadequate substitute," she admitted.

"That's not what I'm referring to. I watched you yesterday," Tiberius told her, uninterested in her reaction to this disturbing information. "The way you gave your opponent her weapon back. The way you simply surrendered when your precious seat at lunch was taken. You didn't fight for it. You didn't do it the way Careers are _supposed _to do it." Steele suddenly scowled at him.

"Oh, so that's it?" she replied with a glare. "Look, all I want is to do things the way I see fit, not the way you or anyone else would want me to do them. I'm a Career, yes, but I don't see why you should be so upset that I'm not _your _type of Career. I don't want to be a monster or a killing machine, just a regular person. Why is that so offensive to you?"

"But do you know what that makes you?" Tiberius demanded. _This is your last chance, Steele. Confess and surrender the rebellious thoughts you've been harboring, or vow to renounce your old ways._

"I don't know, a different person than you?" Steele asked in confusion. Tiberius emitted a low, animal-like growl before shoving her against the brick wall of one of the dorms.

"It makes you a rebel. A treasonous seditionist that should be executed on the spot by the Capitol. And what a shame. Your parents wanted you to be the greatest fighter in all of Panem. AND YOU REJECTED THEIR BLESSINGS!"

"Blessings?! Why would I _want _to grow up to be a heartless, cold monster that only sees people in terms of power or weakness?! Why would I _want _to be like you?!" Steele asked furiously.

"You don't understand," Tiberius said to her softly. "I had to _work _to get to where I am today, in terms of fighting ability. You have never had, nor will ever have, anything standing in your way. You were designated to be a Career when you were born, like it or not; I had to earn the label. I always had to live in my brother's shadow, and he in mine. We were seen as two halves of a whole, two persons in one. I had to prove to the Academy that I was not my brother, and he had to prove that he was not me. Our greatest obstacle that we faced together—and conquered—was not fear or blood or being driven to exhaustion, but ourselves. Now no one would dare call us interchangeable. My brother doesn't realize how much of a threat you are to us—the normal Careers—for example."

"What about your girlfriend? She treats you both like the same person," Steele pointed out. It wasn't said in a malicious or mocking tone, but it drove Tiberius to the brink of anger. It had just gotten personal.

"At first," Tiberius said, breathing slowly, "I wanted to tell you that I pitied you. That I felt that you were throwing away your opportunity to be a great Career. All you had to do was become one of us, and then you would be perfect in battle. You could win the Games if you volunteered. But now I see that you won't recant your delusional ideas of soft fighting and ungratefulness. So I'll have to take matters into my own hands and punish you." He withdrew a knife from his pocket, and to his surprise, Steele shoved him off of her when she realized his intentions and brought forth one of her own.

The two stared each other down momentarily before exchanging blows. Tiberius did a quick jab towards Steele's leg, but she saw and moved her leg out of the way. Steele tried to jab at him in response with her own knife, but Tiberius kicked her in the shin, causing her to lose her aim for just a bit. He then sidestepped to his right and pushed Steele against the wall again, his hands leaving imprints where he had applied pressure on her left side. Steele dropped her knife.

"Here is a demonstration of what will happen to you," Tiberius whispered, his breath hitting Steele's face like noxious fumes. He took his knife and touched the upper right side of her forehead with the tip of his blade, making a swift stroke from the top of her forehead directly downwards until he reached her eyebrow, then going around it until the tip of his knife rested on the edge of her cheekbone. Steele clutched at her forehead when he let go, more horrified of whatever he intended to demonstrate than that he had hurt her.

"Why did you do that?!" she demanded, more confused than angry for the moment.

"It was deep enough to create a permanent scar," Tiberius explained. "A taste of what you'll get later, maybe at someone else's hand. Consider it a warning—and a mark of your leniency."

**End of flashback**

**Steele Sharpe**

"He never attacked me again," Steele finished. "But sometimes I would catch him staring at me, boring his eyes into me. He was trying to tell me how much he hated me, but of course I already knew." Enobaria was clearly having some difficulty trying not to smile and bare her teeth again by the end of Steele's story. "You don't think this is all funny, do you?" she asked her mentor. "I didn't make any of this up. Ask Tiberius. He'll give you his side of the story, and you'll see just how demented he is."

"I'm not holding back laughter," Enobaria reassured her. "I'm quite fascinated by all this, actually. Do you think your reaping was a coincidence? The way no other girls stepped in to volunteer like they usually would? Your reaping was clearly rigged."

"Tiberius!" Steele immediately exclaimed. "How could he arrange for something like that, though? Would people actually listen to him?"

"No, not by him," Enobaria corrected her. "Perhaps by Belisarius, or your parents. Maybe they were dissatisfied of your progress, and wished to…start over." Steele suddenly felt a lump in her throat, and Enobaria's surprisingly gentle hands were placed in hers.

"Why?" Steele said breathlessly. "What kind of parents don't even love their own children?"

"I think you have already found out the answer to that question," Enobaria mused as she rose to her feet. They had been conversing privately in Steele's room, and Brutus was doing the same with Tiberius. It had been quite obvious without saying anything that the two would be preferred to be trained separately.

"So, if you think my reaping was rigged, then why are you 'fascinated' by the idea?" Steele asked.

"It's clear that you both ideologically oppose each other," Enobaria replied. "I feel that it would be a good angle for you to play to excite Capitol audiences."

"An angle? Is that all you see it as?" Steele could feel that lump coming up in her throat again.

"No, no!" Enobaria shook her head to emphasize her point. "I mean, that's how _they _should see it. Try to look at it from their point of view; they don't see you as someone who's suffering under the strain of the Career life, as enforced by someone as…zealous as Tiberius. In the interviews, they'll see him as the regular Career, and when he mentions his hatred of you all you have to do is reciprocate."

"But he thinks of me as a rebel!" Steele protested. "What can I say if he calls me that? The Capitol will freak out!" Immediately after saying this she remembered that there were cameras everywhere in the train that had probably picked up her words.

"But you're not a rebel—at least, not the kind they'd have to worry about," Enobaria reminded her, her voice slightly raised to make sure the cameras would pick up her words as well. "You're simply a Career with a soft side. Believe me, the Capitol sometimes tires of killing machines. Sometimes they want killers with a little something special about them. Many things can appeal to them, like your story of being disdained for little reason by another Career, or being abandoned by your parents to a stranger that saw you in the same way they did. Despite our appearances, Steele," Enobaria said with a genuine smile, baring her teeth proudly once more, "We Capitolites are still human enough."

"But you're not a Capitolite," Steele pointed out.

"You become one after the Games," Enobaria explained.

"Well…I guess I could do it," Steele conceded, remembering how she had done that same thing so long ago on such a minor issue, and how it had turned out for her. "I wouldn't technically be lying if I said he was my rival, would I? But can I make a request?"

"Let's hear it first."

"I don't want any fabricated incidents. Nothing for the cameras on the chariots, or during training, or in the interviews. No staged moments in which we clarify how much we despise each other. I want our hatred of each other to be genuine," Steele told her. Enobaria gave a nod of approval and started for the door.

"I have to talk with Brutus for a bit now, to discuss strategy," she told her tribute. "Don't worry, I won't let him convince me that Tiberius is in the right."

"And one more thing," Steele added.

"About Tiberius?"

"Yes. To make it clear, I hate him, too. Just as much as he hates me."


	19. D12 train: Power of words and thoughts

Train rides, District 12: The power of words and thoughts

**Katniss Everdeen**

We gather into the train and leave District 12. Rocko takes a seat on the couch in the foyer, but Lidda peers out as the train begins to speed up, watching her familiar world race away from her. I can see the tears run down her cheeks as she realizes that she will probably never see home again.

"It's not fair," she whispers, all of her anger drained from her for the moment.

_This is it, _I think, _My first I do ANYTHING to ease her sadness?_

"Lidda," I say, "What do you think your mother would say if she saw you crying right now? Don't you think she'd want you to be strong? For her? For your District?" I remember my reaping for a moment, recalling how I didn't cry at all on the train, only when I had initially heard Prim had been reaped. And afterwards I didn't cry for myself, even though I could have. After all, I was most likely going to my death.

"She would probably regret having ever had me," she replies bitterly. Looks like I just said the wrong thing. I don't know if she means that, but it does tell me something sobering about her; she isn't like me. She never expected herself to be reaped, a lot like some of the other young tributes Haymitch told me about in past Hunger Games. If she even has a chance at winning, she'd have to do it much differently than I did.

"Even if she would," I reply, choosing my words carefully, "I don't think she'd want you to be a hopeless wreck. She'd want you to be strong, to try and pull yourself together. I know it's easier for me to say it then to tell it to you, but it's your only option if you want to have a chance at surviving."

"We'll never know now, won't we? Lidda says. Life is so unfair."

"It was for me, too," I tell her as I take her small hand and lead her to the dining room. The reaping recaps, if we're going to watch them, will have to come later. I don't want Lidda balling her eyes out when she sees some scary-looking Career.

I watch Lidda dry her tears as she eats her food, ignoring us for the moment.

"Feel free to eat as much as you want!" Effie exclaims during our meal, a big smile on her face.

"Shut up," Lidda snaps. "But could you pass the salt?" Effie does so.

"Most of this food can only be eaten regularly in the Capitol, but it's grown mostly in Districts 10 and 11," Effie informs the tributes, although they don't seem to care.

"Morphling," Rocko asks her. "Do you have any?"

"I'm afraid not," Effie replies after a pause. Rocko shakes his head.

"What a pity. Guess I'll have to pilfer some from an unsuspecting aristocrat. Do you know any?" he asks her.

"No one who's addicted to that, I'm afraid," Effie replies awkwardly, trying her best to sound as if it were the most ordinary question she had ever been asked. She looks at me briefly, as if she wants to ask me something. I know what it is. _Am I doing a good job by not getting fussy at them?_ She wants to know. I don't care how she acts, though; she can't change completely. She's too deeply rooted in the Capitol. And the tributes we have are intolerable anyway, so I can't blame her if she wants to scold them about their behavior.

I immediately regret thinking that. I can't just be so dismissive of my first tributes. Sure, they may not be what I would have wanted, but this is District 12. Beggers can't be choosers.

"So, Rocko, think you could steal a sword from a Career's hand?" Haymitch asks. He's a little drunk, but I can't tell if he's being serious.

"Possibly, but it wouldn't be a wise decision," Rocko replies frankly. "I'd rather not like to risk having my throat slit. However, I could steal smaller things, like daggers or vials of poison."

"So if you're as a good a thief as I've heard," I interject, "Then you'll be able to hide yourself fairly well? Maybe not even let them know you were there?"

"Perhaps," Rocko tells me curtly as he continues eating.

"What about you, Lidda?" I ask.

"I make glass," she replies. I think for a moment over what to say. Glass-making is practically useless in the Games. Unless…I'm brought back to memories of Peeta, how he was able to cameoflauge himself from all his experience with decorating cakes. Maybe…

"What about stained glass?" I ask. "Have you ever designed something with a lot of colors? And, if so, do you think you could do the same with your body?"

"Wait, what? Why would I want to paint my body?" Lidda asked.

"Cameoflauge," Haymitch clarifies. "Do you think you could blend in with it?"

"I dunno, I'd have to learn!" Lidda replies. "But I doubt it would help. I'm kind of hard to hide."

_She isn't hopeful about this,_ I think to myself, _But at least we have something for her._

"But," Lidda adds to interrupt my thoughts, "I _was_ trying to make a stained glass window of me walking on a rainbow from one side to the other. I was about halfway through by today. I just wanted to make something beautiful, all by myself."

Hearing this is saddening, but I can see Rocko's mouth quivering, and he whispers something to Haymitch, who grins. I quickly connect the dots. Rocko is a thief. Lidda is an artist of sorts. I hope Rocko doesn't tell her what he did, but when training comes there won't be any way to stop him.

After dinner we watch the reapings recap, minus Effie. At first things are normal, but then all hell breaks loose when Lidda sees Tiberius.

"Oh, shit, how am I supposed to deal with that giant bastard? I'm gonna get killed!" she wails.

"Would you kindly shut up?" Rocko asks her. "I can't focus on the other tributes when your big mouth is constantly flapping like a fish's jaw."

"Shut up about telling me to shut up!" Lidda cries. She and Rocko then proceed to bicker at each other, with Lidda getting angrier and angrier and Rocko getting more and more amused. I try and settle them down, but they just ignore me and keep going.

This is not going well. I guess I picked a bad year to be a mentor.

**Effie Trinket**

The District 12 escort lay on top of her bed, thinking rather than napping after her dinner. Katniss and Haymitch were discussing strategy with the tributes. Effie had felt a desire to be alone, to try and think about how she had changed so much since she last saw Katniss, and what she was going to do now.

_11 years as an escort, _she thought, _And nothing's really changed. Except me, perhaps._

Effie had never thought seriously on the subject of _why _she believed what she did—what she was taught in the Capitol about the people in the Districts. Like all of her fellow Capitolites, she had believed that the District people deserved their poverty, and that a stable society needed a large working class to produce goods to sustain itself. And the District people needed a strong government to keep them under control, otherwise there would be anarchy.

It wasn't quite as simple as that, Effie knew, but that was the gist of the argument. Capitolites had written justifications for these practices and organized debates on the subject, arguing over whether this or that was ethical. But not once, Effie realized, had any of them ever considered the tributes as human.

Unless they won the Games. A recent theory in Capitol thought had stated the Games were a way to "purge the savagery" from the individuals chosen to be tributes. The Games were meant to destroy them of whatever qualities they had possessed before, and if they had survived they would be remade into something more pleasing, such as powerful killer that could defend Panem at a moment's notice, or an attractive prostitute willing to share their "love" to nearly anyone.

_It's all rubbish, _Effie told herself. _All of it. But I used to think it was true._ She had never really paid attention to all of the viewpoints about the Districts that had been circulated around the Capitol—the whole thing had been completely irrelevant and too complicated—but after Katniss' victory things had changed. For the first time in decades District 12 had a Victor, and on her first year of being an escort, no less. She and Katniss had been more or less forced into becoming associates after the latter's victory, attending numerous banquets both during the Victory Tour and the years to come. At first things had been normal and Effie was able to treat Katniss the way most escorts treated Victors. But at one party things changed when she encountered Cinna and Katniss talking about adjusting to her new life. Effie couldn't see how there would be any difficulty.

"Why would you bother with your old life anymore?" Effie asked. "It was horrible, wasn't it? Now you'll never have to worry about being around so many poor, dangerous people." Effie recalled that statement with regret, especially with the way she had made "poor" synonymous with "dangerous".

She remembered Katniss and Cinna leaving her, not wishing them to listen to the rest of their conversation. She went off to socialize with others, but then Katniss found her again.

"Listen," she began, "You don't understand what it's like to live in the Districts. But what if I showed you?"

"Why would I want to see that?" Effie asked.

"I want you to see that despite how different we are from you people in the Capitol, we're still humans like you are," Katniss replied. "Come over and visit me in the Victor's village sometime from the Capitol. I'll show you the truth."

"There's nothing for me to see," Effie insisted. "I won't have you taking me into danger!"

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Katniss replied with a tone of impatience. "Personally, I don't know if you'll be affected by what you see at all. But Cinna seems to think it's a good idea."

"Then why don't you take him?"

"He's already aware of how bad it is for me. Before the Games, he was able to see me as a person with a life instead of just another toy to doll up for the Capitol. But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take him along, too."

And so Effie had seen District 12 in all its lack of glory. It had only taken some negotiations with the right people—and she had friends in high places—to conjure up an excuse to be going there with Cinna, and at Katniss' insistence the higher-ups allowed it. There Katniss had given her an unofficial tour of the District, from the Hob to the Seam to the electric fence. Effie had hated being in such an uncivilized place, but as the tour went on she began to be revolted not so much by the scenery as she was the conditions of the people she met. Katniss, at Cinna's urging and probably with great suspicion, opened up about her life and what she had been doing before being reaped.

When it was over Effie could not look at her District in the same way. But even now, her old beliefs still lingered in her mind. The Capitol could not lie, she knew. But what Katniss had shown her could not be denied, either. So she had formed a new view that compromised these truths; the people of the Districts are laborers, meant to serve the Capitol, but they are suffering laborers. The Capitol can afford to spread _some _of its prosperity to them. It is their reward for all of their work.

At least, that was what she told herself. Actually demonstrating that she believed this was another story. In reapings between Katniss' and this one, she had caught herself being just as she was before to the tributes, and it was only Haymitch's rude—and deserved—comments towards her that she was able to realize how much she was violating her new convictions.

_But now that Katniss is here, _she thought, _Things will be different. I can show her that she had good points. I'm still a Capitolite and she's still a District 12 girl, so we'll never agree on things, but I want to show her that I'm trying, even though it's so hard sometimes. She's lucky, she's never had her worldview shattered. _But then she thought back to win Katniss was reaped and reconsidered.

Effie rose from her bed and went out to the viewing room, where the others had just watched the reapings recap. She could care less about the other tributes at the moment; only hers mattered right now, and it was time to show them a bit of sympathy and explain her role in the next few days of their lives.

"What the hell do you want, you spoiled bitch?" Lidda demanded when she appeared. Effie placed a gloved hand to her mouth in shock.

_But should I really be surprised? _She asked herself, and then she smiled behind her hand. Perhaps Lidda's cursing was a little endearing? Coming from anyone else, it couldn't possibly be, but from a 12 year old girl in a pink dress with a childish bow it was actually amusing. But also a little sad, Effie thought. If she had been living in the Capitol, never having had to work a day in her life, then maybe Lidda would never have learned those words and such a young age. The way her innocence would fade over the years broke Effie's heart.

_But to not look at them as foolish and unenlightened for being this way, _Effie thought, _Is still a start. I have to tolerate their behavior, to show Katniss that I can._

"Lidda, please!" Katniss insisted. "I'm sorry, Effie," she told her. "She's just a bit angry over being reaped."

"No shit! Of course I'm pissed!" Lidda replied.

"But you don't have to lash out everybody," Haymitch pointed out as he guzzled down some beer from several packs he had brought on the train from home.

"It _is _a little barbaric, Lidda," Rocko added. "I had once thought there was something wrong with my upbringing, in the days when I first recognized my own desire to steal from others for subsistence. But at least I wasn't raised in vulgarity."

"Are you talking shit about my uncle?! I'll tear your head off, you asshole!" Lidda cried, lunging at Rocko. Katniss held them back.

"Both of you, please don't aggravate each other!" Katniss cried. "Haymitch and I are just trying to help you both do well in the Games."

"But you can't!" Lidda insisted. "We don't shoot bows or bake bread! Rocko's a thief, and I'm a glass-maker! How are either of _us _going to be able to survive in the Games? And don't say that we should get into a relationship. I'm not making out with a boy 4 years older than me, he might give me a morphling addiction with his lips!"

"For starters," Rocko began, "It's only a _mild _addiction. Second, morphling is injected into the bloodstream. There is no conceivable way that I could spread an addiction to you. Third, I am not interested in you."

"Oh, so am I just not good enough for your standards?!" Lidda demanded.

"Lidda, try to cooperate!" Katniss said, struggling to make peace.

"Why are you against me? What the fuck did I do? _He's _the serial asshole, not me! He said so himself!" Lidda told Katniss.

"I only rob from the terminally rude," Rocko corrected her. Katniss sighed and rose from the couch.

"I need a break from you two!" she cried. "So I'll be in my room if you need me. And thanks a lot for not helping, Haymitch!" He shrugged as she stormed out, glancing at Effie.

"She's not seasoned, like you and I are. We're used to this sort of stuff, am I right?" he asked her.

Effie scowled back at him. She may have been trying to _get used to _"this stuff", as Haymitch put in, but there were times when she just had to let her instincts kick in. And now was one of those times.

"Haymitch, get Katniss out of her room and back into the viewing room, IMMEDIATELY!" Effie shrieked. "The nerve of you, letting your mentor brave the stress of managing two children alone! Are you aware that I can advise the Gamemakers next year not to put any alcohol in the trains, for the sake of the children? That's right, I can take away your only source of comfort!"

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Effie, I'll do what you want," he said, raising his hands defensively. "Just don't get all threatening. I don't know whether you can back that up or not."

"Oh, believe me, I can!" Effie replied sharply as Haymitch left to go retrieve Katniss.

_Two more to go, _she thought.

"And you two! I've never seen such ungrateful tributes! Don't you realize that Katniss and Haymitch—flawed as they are—are your only chance at surviving in the Games? Both of you have a _very high _chance of getting killed, but so does everyone else. Your mentors are one of the few means you have of lowering the odds!"

"Easy for you to say," Lidda pointed out. "You're just some stuck-up Capitolite windbag, what do you know of being torn apart from your home and family?"

"Not much," Effie admitted, "But I know enough to know that neither of you are handling it well! Rocko, stop patronizing Lidda! I don't know what compels you to steal from the already-impoverished people in these Districts, but now your life of crime is over! In the Capitol a District person like yourself could go to jail, or worse—be targeted by the Gamemakers for death in the Arena! You didn't think they were unbiased, did you? I'd suggest an attitude adjustment, and for you to put your old life behind. It's deplorable, the way you steal things!" Rocko clapped a few times for Effie in sarcasm.

"Well done. I'm sure it didn't take much for you to find fault with me. Real mediators don't criticize the people they're trying to bring together, you know," Rocko told her. Effie ignored him and focused on Lidda.

"And Lidda," she said softly, looking downward to meet her eyes, "I know that you don't expect to live much longer, but I'll do what I can to make sure that your last days—even if they really are your last days—aren't spent in misery. Now that I've promised you that, I want you to promise me something in return."

"What? I'm not going to stop swearing, so if it's that, fuck off!" Lidda cried.

"No, dear. I want you to promise that you'll look at this with as positive of an attitude as possible. Don't doubt your abilities, and never give up hope. And don't ever think that you'll never see your loved ones again. Let your memories of them motivate you to win."

"No more generic words have been spoken," Rocko said.

"But they're true," Effie insisted. "Don't listen to him if you don't want to, Lidda. He'll leave you alone if he can't get a reaction out of you."

"I guess I could try to do what you said," Lidda told Effie. "Now scram and bring back the mentors." Effie obeyed and brought back Haymitch and Katniss, who had apparently patched things up. Effie returned to her room, satisified, despite hearing the occasional loud noises that sounded like human voices a few rooms over.

**Katniss Everdeen**

When the reaping recap is over and strategies and ideas have been discussed, we all retire to our rooms for some sleep, except for me. I visit Effie, who answers when I knock.

"I've just come to say thanks," I said. "Sorry I walked out on them like that. I can't believe I made _you _be the one to try and force us back together."

"It's all right, dear," Effie says, giving me a hug. I think it's strange how she called me "dear", like I were a friend or a child or something. Is that what we are now?

"You taught me something so important," she goes on, "But sometimes, I'll admit, it's hard for me to remember that. I tried to tolerate them as best as I could. But then…"

"But then you did what you thought was best, Effie," I finish for her. She smiles.

"I just had to tell myself that there were human beings underneath those District people," Effie tells me. "It should have been easy, but after all I was taught…it's just the way of life!" she adds defensively. This implies to me that she still wishes she could view the people of the Districts as good little workers, happy subjects of the Capitol. But she can't, and she's conflicted. Her Capitolite instincts—her desire to show that the Capitol is the parent, and the District people are the children—won over when she saw me getting fed up with them. She probably felt like a mother trying to get her siblings to stop fighting with each other. Has Effie ever even had children, I wonder? With all her makeup and surgery I can't even tell how old she is, nor have I dared to ask.

"Capitolites just know best for the District people," she finishes meekly, trying to hold onto her old ideology.

"Maybe sometimes," I concede, referring to her, "But not all the time. And because they don't always know, they don't always care. If more Capitolites were like you, Effie, then maybe they would know. Maybe then the Districts would be able to make enough for themselves. Maybe they wouldn't all be suffering. Maybe they would come to love their government." _Maybe there would be no Games, _I want to add, but I feel like Effie wouldn't be able to respond to that effectively.

Effie begins to sob. "It's wrong," she whispers, "It's wrong and we both know it. I just wish I could stop telling myself it was right. I don't know what to believe anymore."

"We just can't give up hope, even if we don't see a point in being hopeful," I tell her. Lidda had told me what she had told her. I am about to leave for bed, but Effie asks:

"And could you tell Rocko I'm sorry? I think I was too harsh on him. I'm starting to realize now that when you're in his position, there's no way you can see that stealing is wrong."

"I'll tell him," I say, although I don't plan to maybe after we reach the Capitol.

I go back to my room and get ready for bed, thinking about what I had said to Effie. Did I really believe it? That the Capitol had the potential to be benevolent? Or are they just inherently evil, and did I lie to Effie to make her feel better and not make her feel afraid that she and her kind would be punished for what they had done to the Districts?

_Whatever the answer is, _I think to myself as I drift off to sleep, _I'm asking myself the question too late._

**AN: I know some people are saying that I should make these chapters longer, but it's late at night and I figured I'd only do this one District for now. I might combine some of the others I have in mind, though. To clarify, I'm not doing all the Districts, just some.**

**Trivia question: What direction were the mobs in Monster Story going for most of the story?**

**North**

**South**

**East**

**West**


	20. Reasoning, weaknesses and strength

Train rides, Districts 8, 1, and 9: Reasoning, weaknesses and strength.

**Denelle Ardley**

Denelle was quietly eating with Thomas, her smile reforming itself every time she finished swallowing some food. She was listening to Woof go on and on about some story of what he did in his Games.

"Now, see 'ere, 'arold didn't 'ave much guts, so I 'ad to go an' git the sword out a' the C'reer's belly. Then we was just about to go back and 'ave ourselves some a' 'is supper that 'e 'ad on 'im when we sees this big Mutt. ''arold!' I says. 'Git the sword!'"

"And then you beat the Mutt, right?" Denelle asked eagerly, her smile still plastered on her face. She didn't see Thomas and Cecilia exchange a glance.

"Well, I did, miss, but 'arold, 'e didn't," Woof replied somberly. "It was sad, to see 'im go. Don't think I woulda' got out without 'im. Sad thing was, 'e was tellin' me as e' was dyin', 'Take care a' Cindy for me. I thought she was 'is District Pard'ner, but then I kept on cryin' that night 'cuz I saw both their names in the sky. She 'ad died, too. Can you too young'ns 'magine 'ow I felt, avin' failed my friend like that?" Woof was about to tear up when Denelle got up and gave him a hug.

"It's ok…Harold and Cindy are in a better place now, one with no Hunger Games," Denelle said. She wasn't sure if she believed that, but it was what she always told people when they told her a story about someone they knew dying in the Games. She hoped it was true sometimes.

"No, no," Woof shook his head, "I wasn't finished. See, Cindy turned out to be 'is sister. So I felt better after that, when I found it out."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure it was hard for you," Denelle went on. "If you ever want to talk about it with me, feel free to, before I go into the Arena." Woof chuckled.

"That's real nice of ya, missy, but there ain't no need. It's all a distant memory, now. Still, gets me ev'ry time, it does, when I think 'bout it." Woof then went back to eating at his usual slow pace.

"So, Thomas, what sort of talents do you have?" Cecilia asked him. "Quickly," she added with a whisper, "Before Woof remembers something and starts talking about it!"

"I, uh…" Denelle coud see Thomas twiddling his thumbs nervously before he cleared his throat. Apparently he had thought of something.

_But he doesn't have much to hide, _Denelle thought. _I think they'd understand about his parents and their crime ring._

"I'm pretty good at talking to people," Thomas began. "What I mean is, I'm good at convincing people things. I guess it's because they find me charming, or something." Denelle grinned. Thomas was an adorable 13 year old boy, how could he not be charming?

"So, would you be able to convince people not to kill you? Or lie about something important?" Cecilia asked. Thomas shook his head.

"I'm not really the manipulating type," he explained. "But since most people see me as harmless and don't know that much about me, they don't suspect much. Maybe I could lay low for the Games?" Cecilia sighed.

"What's the matter?" Denelle asked. "Thinking about home?" That had to be it. This poor woman had multiple children that missed her dearly. Maybe Thomas reminded her of one of them?

"No, darling, it's not that," Cecilia replied. "I just don't know how well either of you can do. Being charming and a good speaker can only get you so far, Thomas. And Denelle…what about you?"

"Well, I've been told I'm very friendly by…_most _people. I know that's not much, but when the Games are harsh and near the end I think I could keep my cool," she answered. Cecilia shook her head, but Denelle could see a slight smile on her face. Not one of amusement, but a grim, cynical smile of defeat. Denelle knew her smiles, after all, and this was definitely not one of relief, delight, or joy.

"That's all very well," Cecilia said, "But I want each of you to try and learn how to use a weapon when you get to training, just so you can be able to protect yourselves." Denelle raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, I think maybe Thomas might know a thing or two about that stuff!" she realized.

"Why would I?" Thomas asked her suspiciously. Cecilia was curious as well. Even Woof, who had been mostly absentmindedly eating his food, was curious.

"Oh, that's right, Cecilia, Woof, you don't know. Thomas and his family are these—" before she could finish Thomas immediately fell backwards in his chair.

"Gah, my head!" Thomas cried. "I think the corner of the chair hit my head. I gotta go to the bathroom and wash off any blood." He immediately ran off and covered the back of his head. Denelle got up and followed him. It was pretty scary for her, for him to suddenly get injured like that. Maybe he had poor balance? She'd have to help him with that if she could.

Denelle knocked on the door of the bathroom, and Thomas immediately opened it, his head completely uninjured.

"Oh, good, you're better! Let's get back to eating. Soon we'll have to—"

"Not yet," Thomas snapped. "Listen, what were you thinking in there?! Why did you think telling them about my parents was a good thing?!"

"Well, I assumed that since your parents run that crime ring, they'd have to have some bodyguards for the prostitutes and the drug dealers," Denelle explained. "Wouldn't they have trained you to be one of those?" Thomas groaned.

"No! First off, our family's…security is managed by other people. Second, do you think they'd train me how to use weapons like swords when we've got a good stockpile of guns smuggled in? Plus, we export most of them to the other Districts, like 9 through 11. And third…do NOT tell them about my family!" Denelle's jaw dropped open for a bit. Why would Thomas not want anyone to know about his family? To her, the family was one of the most important aspects of a person's life. They shaped who you were and decided how you were to be raised, and they had the vital job of loving you when no one else did.

"Well, if they looked down on you because your family happens to be involved in illegal activity," Denelle said, "Then they're just being really judgmental for that. Thomas, you should never worry what other people think about you. Just be happy with who you are!"

"That's not what this is about! I could care less how they view me," Thomas countered.

"That's the spirit! I'm glad I'm getting through to you."

"No, see…I don't know how the Capitol's law enforcement works, but chances are there's a hotline or some place they could call to tell the Capitol about the crime ring if they wanted to. And the Capitol would probably put them in jail or make them Avoxes if they found out that they knew something and didn't tell them. You wouldn't want Cecilia or Woof dead, would you?" Denelle covered her mouth in shock.

"Oh my goodness…I didn't think of that! I'm so, so sorry, Thomas!" The two tributes hugged.

"It's ok, just…don't talk about it to them," Thomas went on. "I don't know if my reaping was rigged or not, but if it was…I wouldn't be surprised. But if it wasn't, and you told them about my family and the Capitol didn't know it already, they'd be in big trouble if they didn't say anything. And no mentor would want to rat out their tribute's family. It's like the ultimate act of betrayal. Snitching, that's what they call it."

"But, why would the Capitol rig the reapings to pick you? Do they even do that?" Denelle asked him. All of this—drug rings, smuggling, prostitution, rigged reapings—she'd heard of all these things before, but it was hard to imagine that both the Capitol _and _her District partner were connected to these sorts of things. There had to be some explanation, she knew, but what?

Thomas nodded. "Let's not talk about this anymore, though. We have to watch the reaping recaps, anyway."

"Ok," Denelle said shakily as the two left the bathroom. "But why would they rig your reaping? You've done nothing to them except manage a business they don't like. Well, your family did, but—"

"I'll tell you later, I promise," Thomas said. "I don't know how much you'd be able to take in right now."

The two went back to the dining room, finished dinner as if nothing had happened, watched the reaping recaps, and went to bed, but Thomas' words echoed in her mind:

_I don't know how much you'd be able to take in right now. _What did he mind by that? Did he see her as too naïve, too dumb to understand the concept of right and wrong? Like so many other people before him had?

_It's not that I don't know, it's just that I don't label things like that, _Denelle told herself. _Everyone has their reasons for doing things, and you're much better person if you try and understand them. _

She'd just have to respect that Thomas didn't want her to tell Cecilia about his family. Even though he said he was probably reaped. So if he was reaped, the Capitol would already know about his family's criminal activities and that he was their son. But what if they pretended like they didn't know and just used it as an excuse to get rid of Cecilia and Woof? But why would they do that?

_There's a reason for everything, _Denelle repeated to herself as she tried to sleep. _There's a reason for everything._

**Rex Adamas**

Rather than asking about his strengths, as non-Career mentors did, Cashmere asked about any weaknesses he would admit to laughed in response.

"Oh, please! Weaknesses?! Do you really think somebody who was a model for 3 years, a singer for 5, and a Career for 10 _really _would have any bad points?! I'm an all-around, badass kinda guy," he reassured her. "Just another bit of perfection in a long line of perfect tributes."

"Really, now?" Cashmere said, stifling some laughter of her own. Rex raised an eyebrow at the sound of her giggle. Maybe she found him irresistibly attractive, like so many other not-as-goregous women had?

"You bet!" he replied proudly. He could see Dorea looking at him, too, as well as exchanging oblique glances at Gloss. She was probably having a tough time deciding which one of them was hotter or something. Cute, but it would be a big distraction to her in the Games. He could slit her throat whenever he pleased.

"I've already found a problem with you," Cashmere declared unexpectedly. Rex's head heated up, as if someone had just insulted something or someone near and dear to him. "You're arrogant. You think people will just worship you wherever you go. For the next few days, you'll mostly be right. But in the Arena, that doesn't fly. It doesn't matter how good-looking or talented you think you are; you still have to be aware about any aspect of yourself that an enemy could exploit—even if that enemy doesn't seem very threatening."

"Why should I? Plenty of Careers like me have one before!" Rex protested.

"And even more have died because they thought the same way you do," Gloss reminded him. "Remember Cassius? Hannibal? Marius? Pompey? Jugurtha? Odoacer? Cato? Tympanius? They all thought they were the best. Look what happened to them?"

"What about Cynthia? Or Henrietta? Heather? Jadis? Alessia? Sparkle? Pearl? Glimmer?" Cashmere went on. "And you know who some of them lost to? Outlier Districts. People they never suspected would even be capable of killing them, much less winning. They underestimated people."

"Who needs to study people when you have brute strength and good looks?" Rex countered. "Listen, I get what you're saying, but all those people? They thought too much. Tried to lead alliances and shit. They were too involved. Me, I'm different. All I have to do is go in there and destroy anybody in my way! They can't stand up to me! I'm too tough for them! Most of these tributes are just kids, anyway!"

"If you're so confident, then let's go watch the recaps," Dorea replied, a hint of impatience in her voice. "We'll see just how tough everybody is." So the group did just that.

First up came Tiberius and Steele. Rex grinned. Even the Career competition was atrocious! Tiberius was a few inches shorter than him, and clearly transfixed on that Steele girl. She wasn't much herself, although she did have that cool looking scar.

"They'll be too busy fighting each other to even notice me! I could even bash their heads together! What do you think?" he asked Dorea.

"I _think _that you're not taking their rivalry into consideration," she replied. "These two—despite being shorter and perhaps physically weaker than you are—are still worth taking into consideration. Like us, they're both highly trained Careers, and their relationship to each other might be something to exploit, even if it doesn't involve you. There is so much to consider about each person in these Games."

"Pfft, sure, ok. Next!" Rex called out. Cashmere fast-forwarded to District 3.

"Aww, look at the little babies! That one brought her blanky!" Rex cried, pointing at Noiz's scarf. "Next!" District 4 didn't interest him, and neither did 6, but District 5's girl was…

"Rex? Rex?" Cashmere snapped her fingers to get him awake.

"Uh, what?"

"What do you think of them?"

"Eh…meh. Next!"

Rex's opinions on the rest of the Districts was usually summed up that way. Aside from laughing at Lidda's tantrum, he didn't have much to say on anyone else.

"See, guys? There was no need to worry! They're mostly untrained wimps, and anybody that isn't won't be a problem after I kill them. There's nothing to worry about." Rex said, striding off to his room to take a shower.

"But," he added to Cashmere, "Thanks for considering it. I know it must have been hard for you, winning your Games. Maybe you weren't as strong as me, and maybe it _did _take more than just strength and power. But this just isn't one of those times."

"What a pompous little-!" Cashmere sputtered, but Dorea stopped her.

"I think he was trying to give a compliment," she told her.

**Dorea Calis**

She wasn't sure just how inappropriate her idea was, or even if it was inappropriate at all. Surely someone else had considered this idea before her, out of the 2,016 other past tributes?

She knocked on Gloss' door gently as she could while the train rattled on through the night, the faint hum it made as it zoomed across Panem to the Capitol surprisingly soothing. "Gloss?" she whispered, trying to adopt a scared and nervous tone.

"Yeah?" he replied in the darkness. Dorea sighed with relief. He was awake, so he'd be less reluctant.

"Hey," she said, sitting on the foot of his bed. She could hear him shifting his weight to give her room.

"Hey. What's the matter?" Gloss asked. Dorea's heart beat rapidly. All she had to do was rehearse what she had planned on, and…

"I'm just…worried about Rex," she lied. "What he said about all the other tributes being pushovers…it can't be that easy, right? What if he's wrong? What if we both end up dying in the bloodbath, despite all that we've done to get ourselves here?" The last part was a genuine worry, but Dorea had learned earlier today that it was best to put it in the back of her mind. Gloss sat up, and she could just make out the muscles of his torso. This would be less difficult than she thought.

"I know what you mean. My District Partner, Eirene, was really tough. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, the works. But she died in the bloodbath. She wanted to fight off some alliance of tributes that had apparently banded together, but they worked together to take her down. I could have stopped them from killing her. I could have helped her."

Dorea grew a bit irritated. She came here to resolve her sexual feelings for her mentor, not hear a story! But she listened anyway, knowing that it might be important to remember.

"If she had just had one more person helping her, she could probably have fought them off, if not completely killed them. After the Games were over, Caesar asked me about it. I told him it was because I hated her and wanted to see her killed, because I saw her as a rival. Kind of like Tiberius and Steele. But the truth was I was just afraid. Afraid of a bunch of determined, untrained kids. I didn't stop being afraid of them until the very end of the Games."

"Are you saying I should defend my District partner if he's outnumbered?" Dorea asked him.

"No. You can do what you want. I'm just trying to tell you that even tough Careers like me have our insecurities, our fears, our worries. We just don't talk about them, most of the time. I'm glad you were willing to mention yours."

Dorea thought for a moment. How could she lead this to sex? There was no telling what he was thinking in the dark.

"We usually don't mention our crushes, either, especially before the Games," Gloss added, which made Dorea blush. "Kind of like how you could see Rex was staring at the District 5 girl."

"Riley," Dorea reminded him. "Riley Covington. I made sure to remember all their names. But…what does this have to do with me?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Gloss asked her quizzically. Dorea, horrified, bolted for the door.

"No, wait. Stay," Gloss told her. "Just be sure to get back to your room when we're done."

Dorea shakily made the necessary preparations. "I'm sorry I couldn't control myself," she whispered.

"Don't be. Everyone has their weaknesses."

**Noelle Valade**

Noelle looked anxiously from Ernest to Amruen, and back again. The escort didn't seem to care at all, busy eating the lavish food in front of him. Apparently he didn't care if her mentor had a bit of a panic attack when the train started moving, nor did he care if Ernest yelled something along the lines of "I should have known what they were doing!", or that Amruen had to grab a hold of him to stop him from trying to flee the train while it was moving.

"Ernest, are you ok? I mean, how were you on the train getting here?" she asked him. Her mentor getting jittery like this certainly wasn't good for her, but it was even worse for him.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Ernest said, his hands and knees shaking as he took his fork and began eating. Amruen eyed him carefully.

"Are you ok now?" he asked. Ernest nodded.

"I'm all right. It's just that the train moving along makes me nervous. It reminds me of...something else. Something which I'm trying to forget."

"It's just a train," Amruen said softly. "You need to eat."

"And then what do I do?" Ernest asked nervously.

"Well, you tell us some stuff for the Games, and try to learn a bit about us," Noelle explained. She didn't like the fact that hers was the only District where the tributes would have to explain to the mentor how this process worked. Was it because he was new or was he just scared? Either way, she didn't understand Amruen's concern for him. He was their mentor, he should be the one concerned for _them!_

"Ok…" Ernest began. "I…I know this isn't much, but remember, my Games were different from the way yours will probably be. There was two things I learned in there," he said in a nervous tone, "And I want you both to remember what I say. Number one: The Gamemakers will do _anything._ And that includes arranging for your death. There's nothing out of their grasp. And they'll do their best to make you remember that. Number two: Don't trust anyone for too long. Not even each other, if it comes to that. All but one person will die in the end, and chances are your 'friend' will realize it, too. Sometimes it all comes down to who can kill the quickest."

"Ok, but what about weapons training?" Noelle asked gently. "I'm kind of inexperienced. What do you think would be good for me?"

"A pistol," Ernest replied. "But they won't have those in the Arena. I'm afraid you're on your own with trying to learn weapons."

"That's fine, I shouldn't have expected you to know much," Noelle replied. _Still, would it have hurt for you to TRY? _But she kept all this in her head. When she wasn't being betrayed or abused, Noelle could be a very patient person.

"I'm good with a number of things," Amruen said. "I could teach what you needed to know. But no one else," he added, harshly, "So don't go off making friends in the training center. Got it?"

"I understand," Noelle replied. If she needed her District partner to be a second mentor, so be it, as long as it helped her survive.

"And listen," Ernest added, "If you ever need…well, a friend…I'll try to be there. I remember how hard it was for me when I found out I was reaped. I felt so unprepared, and everything just seemed unfair. My mentor was this old guy on morphling. He wasn't there for me. But I want to be useful. Even though I honestly don't know what to do or say sometimes."

"It's all right. You've done your duty," Amruen replied patting him on the back. "Now, Noelle and I are going to watch the recaps. You need to eat more and then rest. Try and get the Games off of your mind."

"But maybe I could-?" Ernest started.

"No," Amruen replied defiantly. "You've done all you needed to. Come on, Noelle. I see your plate's clean, so let's be off." Amruen got up and jerked his head to get Noelle to follow him. She didn't really want to, but she had a feeling something was up.

"Why are you so nice to him?" Noelle asked. "What did he do to deserve it?" She was met with a glare from Amruen.

"He endured something far more grueling than your petty life," Amruen barked back. "What's the worst thing you can remember?" Noelle proceeded to explain her history with Ivan. When it was over Amruen practically snarled at her.

"That's it, huh? Do you know what this guy's Games were like?" Amruen demanded.

"Well, I know they were in this war zone, and that they used guns and stuff, but not really," Noelle replied. "I never watched them."

"My parents tried to acquire all of the archived Games footage they could find," Amruen explained. "Even the editing by those Capitolite monsters couldn't take away the Quarter Quell's raw horror." Searching through a basket underneath the coffee table, Amruen finally found a disc marked only as "75". He put it in and fast-forwarded through the reapings, only pausing when Ernest was shown briefly.

"Look how much different he looks," Amruen remarked. Noelle nodded in agreement. Pre-Games Ernest had this child-like innocence about him; not knowing any better, Noelle would have probably marked him as a bloodbath, even if this had been an ordinary Games. Amruen fast-forwarded some more until the bloodbath was shown.

"Oh my God," Noelle muttered when she saw the camera pan around the Arena, showing the destroyed ruins and dead landscape. "It's like a war zone."

"Exactly. It was probably inspired off of some of the bombed out areas in some of the Districts," Amruen told her. "I lived not far from one of these types of spots. My parents took me there a few times. Got me to see the truth about the Capitol—the side of it that most people choose to ignore or have forgotten. Let's watch more of their brutality, shall we?"

The Games continued, and Noelle was utterly horrified at the way so many tributes quickly were killed by the modern warfare. And yet, a few of them managed to adapt rather quickly. Ernest, naturally, had been one of them. What was noteworthy about these Games was that there were almost no alliances, no Career pack. The fact that all but two of them had been killed was a big factor, but Noelle almost averted her eyes win one of the other tributes accidentally put a bullet in the back of his ally's head during an ambush by a third tribute.

"These Games taught me a lot," Amruen said. "I learned how _not _to shoot things. I learned how to handle guns. Big mistake, Capitol."

"Why do you blame the Capitol as a whole for this?" Noelle asked. "It's the Gamemakers' fault for thinking this was a good idea."

"They killed my parents," Amruen replied curtly, "And they're willing to kill anyone else for even worse reasons." Noelle stifled a gasp. How could Amruen say things like that in the open, even if they were true?

"Aren't you worried about…you know, the cameras?" she asked. Amruen darted his eyes to look at one planted on the corner of the ceiling.

"No. Any reasonable surveillance state would have them," he replied. "The only thing they don't know about me is where they live. But now that doesn't matter, does it? My reaping was no accident. They're punishing me. So I'll give'm hell, soon."

"Well, you can do what you want, but I'm going to play the Games," Noelle said, trying to sound a bit louder than usual. And then, more quietly: "All that hate I have for Ivan…this would be the perfect opportunity to let it out. And so many unsuspecting tributes that wouldn't realize how deadly I could be if they let me into an alliance…"

"Good girl," Amruen said cynically. "The Capitol will be so proud of you." Noelle stopped, thankful that Amruen had forced her out of her dark thoughts.

"Well, how does Ernest fit into this, then?" she asked while Amruen resumed the footage.

"Is it not obvious? The Capitol ruined him, corrupted him. Turned him from a harmless kid into a mad, gun-toting monster! And he hated what he became, and now he's trying to fix himself. He became a mentor to try and prove to himself that he could move on from his past," Amruen explained. "But it won't work. Not while the Capitol has control over his actions. His brain is screaming for help. That's why he has all those panic attacks. I have so much pity for him. Wouldn't you feel sorry for someone that was broken beyond repair?"

Noelle thought about it. She wanted to answer that the only broken person that she knew was herself, aside from Ernest who she had only known for a few hours. She wanted to say that even if she had been in Ernest's place, she wouldn't have lingered on the horrors she had been forced to experience. She wouldn't feel any vengeance towards the Capitol like Amruen did.

Instead, she would detach herself from her past. Ernest was trying to do this, sure, but he was no expert. Not like she was. He had never had an Ivan in his life. All he had had—as she had seen from watching his Games—was that gun. Which was easier, accepting that a person had betrayed you or breaking up with an object?

Noelle than realized that she was stronger than both Ernest and Amruen. She didn't linger on her lost innocence like Ernest did, nor did she let revenge fester in her mind like Amruen did, although she occasionally had her fantasies of hate. Instead, she distracted herself, never letting the things people and circumstances she had no control over get to her.

But was that the sort of strength needed to win the Games?

**AN: Glad to have finally done a POV for Denelle and Rex! If you like them, good! But it's fine if you don't. I also did District 9 because some people are perfectly fine with longer chapters.**

**To clarify, Dorea's submitter WANTED her to have this crush on Gloss. She's 18. I hope I didn't make it seem too OOC to you, and if I did, well, remember this is not the last we'll be seeing of Dorea. I like her and want to develop her more, but I feel like she's hard to write sometimes.**

**And with that we are through with the train rides! Next chapter will be the chariots, and don't worry, it will only take one chapter.**

**Trivia question: Where are the last six male Careers Gloss mentioned from? I'm giving a lot of leeway on this answer even though it's not multiple choice. You can describe them all individually or just say where the names would be found. I hope that's a big enough hint. If nobody gets it I'll have to spoil it later.**


	21. Chariot rides: Shattered

Chariots: Shattered

**Julia Kellson**

She awoke to a combination of the train suddenly screeching to a halt, and Matthew knocking on the door of her room.

"Get up!" he cried, abruptly opening her door. Julia sat up, looking at him nervously.

"What happened? Did somebody sabotage the train?" Julia asked nervously.

"Naw, nothin' like that," Matthew replied. "We're here! The Capitol's _big_, lemme tell you!" Julia quickly got dressed and joined Matthew outside. At her loud-mouthed escort's insistence, she wore the same thing she had on reaping day. The trains had all joined together on their way to the Capitol, and now all of the cars the tributes occupied were linked together in numerical order. On Julia's right she could see everyone from Districts 1-9—Two intimidating Careers in the distance that led right up to a stern-faced girl and a boy about as big as Matthew, who wore a similar expression on his face, and oddly enough, jeans and a hoodie.

"Scary-lookin', aren't they?" Matthew remarked with no trace of humor. _Was he scared, too?_ She thought.

On her right, Julia saw a muscular girl and a mixed-race boy that seemed pre-occupied with making sure his hat was firmly on his head. The girl waved, while the boy gave a wry grin. Past them was a sandy-haired boy giving a less friendly, grin, and a tiny girl in pink that was too busy looking at her surroundings in the Capitol to notice anyone else.

Before each pair lay a red carpet, and all 12 carpets intersected into a main one that led to the Remake Center, with the crowd of multi-colored Capitolites eager to take pictures of these strange creatures. How they could be strange when they saw people like them every year was a contradiction that no one in the Capitol dared question; indeed, each year was treated with the same fervor as the last, at least initially.

The tribute pairs had the lights beside their carpets lit in numerical order, in order to compel them to walk to the remake center in that fashion. After what seemed like a dreaded eternity, Julia walked forward with Matthew, both of them joining the line.

"These people are just so…weird-looking!" Julia remarked to Matthew as they passed a woman in a yellow outfit that was apparently supposed to resemble a ballgown, contrasting with her blue hair. She slightly placed her hand to her mouth. She was muttering something over the applause, but Julia failed to hear her.

"But to us, we're the weird ones," Matthew pointed out. "I don't get it either, though. None of these folks could work a day in their life, I'll bet. They couldn't get a foal out of a horse, either."

Julia smiled. At least there was _one _thing positive that he remembered about her. But wait…

"Thanks, I guess. But, you know, I don't really _need _to win your approval, do I?" Julia asked him aloud. Matthew glared at her as if to say, "So you'd rather be my enemy, then?"

"Sorry," Julia muttered timidly. But Matthew had his eyes focused on the high-rising, chrome and silver colored buildings around them, and especially the one they were about to enter.

"Shoot…these things are taller than a grain silo. Maybe taller than four all stacked up!" he cried. His remark was met with laughter from a gaggle of Capitolites that had somehow heard him. He scowled at them.

"Why do they think that's funny? Not like I got much else to go by," he said to Julia.

"Well," Julia began, not knowing that the Capitolite audience was leaning forward to hear her answer, "In a place like 10, how can we _not _use farm stuff as a unit of measurement?" she was met with roars of more Capitolite laughter. Matthew glared at her again, indicating that he wanted her to keep her mouth shut in front of these people.

"Are we just some kinda joke to them?" Matthew wondered aloud.

_Yes, definitely so, _Julia thought.

**Dade Novak**

For most of the tributes, stylist sessions were torturous affairs. Their bodies were subjected to the worst kinds of torment, from brutal hair plucking to being drenched in foul-smelling perfumes and makeup. Dade's was almost that way.

The stylist first demanded that he strip down, to see what she could do with him.

"Sure, ok, whatever you want," he replied mischievously. He got as far as removing his shirt before—

"AH, SNAKE! GET IT AWAY GET IT AWAY GET IT AWAAAY!" the stylist shrieked as Sssam harmlessly slithered around Dade's arm.

"I'll put him up, IF…you leave as me as I am," Dade told her. "You can put me in one of your stupid costumes, but that's about it. Sssam will take care of you if you try to shave me or shove powder up my ass."

"What?! But you'll look horrible without makeup and proper grooming! Don't you care about how you look?!" she asked nervously as another stylist handed Dade a box, punching airholes with a knife for Sssam.

"Sure, I do," Dade replied, gently lowering Sssam in the box. "But Sssam says I look fine." Turning to his snake once more, he added, "You'll be out soon, buddy."

**Noiz Huxley**

Noiz was another who managed to negotiate with the Capitolites.

"No! The scarf stays!" she cried, cradling it in her arms.

"But indigo is so…last year!" her stylist tried to persuade her, blinking expectantly with his heavily mascaraed eyes.

"I don't care. I'll make it popular again!" she countered. "Besides, you wouldn't want to touch it. It was, uh, a murder weapon!" The stylist gasped in horror.

"Yeah!" Noiz went on. "Somebody strangled somebody else with this thing. It wraps around necks well, after all. If you touched it then you'd get your fingerprints all over it. And they'll be fresh, so they'll have no choice to blame _you _for the murder!"

"But I've never even been to District 3!" the stylist insisted nervously. "_You _weren't the murderer, were you?" Noiz tried very hard not to smile as she replied simply with:

"Maybe. I don't know."

**Cecilia Banggai**

Still others were unsuccessful.

"Oooh! Those are some _big _muscles for a non-Career girl!" Squealed her stylist.

"We all have those in 7," Cecilia insisted. "But listen, don't show them. I'm trying to hide any sort of power I have!"

"And how much is that?" her stylist asked.

"I…I don't know."

"Well, if you're not sure how strong you are, it wouldn't hurt to show just a taste, would it?" he argued.

"Maybe, but…"

"Good you see it my way."

**Dorea Calis**

Other tributes were a bit more assertive in their demands.

"I need a skirt that goes no further than halfway down my thighs," she instructed. "And glasses."

"But why?"

"My angle for this portion of the Games—which is almost as important as the Arena—is to play the typical sexy angle," Dorea explained. "But with a twist. I want to put a bit of a sophisticated flair to it. Something to turn on guys that aren't into dumb bimbos. Which I am certainly not. As a fashion expert, you would agree with me that glasses are a sign of intelligence in our culture, are they not?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"And if I emphasize the muscularity and tone of my legs," Dorea explained as she pulled up her dress, stretched on her back on a table, and crossed her legs in front of her open-mouthed stylist, "Then I give off this 'I'm not an idiot, I _know _I'm sexy, but there's more to me' kind of vibe. Do you agree?"

"Oh…yes…" the stylist said, trying to avert his eyes. He failed miserably.

**Teddy Graves**

"Hold on, I've got an idea. See, my District partner, Pulse, she's really into…well, funerals."

"Oh? That's rather…morbid."

"Trust me, though, I've got an idea. Just let me talk to her about it." After some explaining…

"I…suppose it could work," said Pulse's stylist.

"OH MY GOD! THAT IS SO AWESOME! Teddy, we are SO doing that! It sounds really cool!"

**Cinna**

But Pulse's voice went past the thin walls between the room of the tributes' prep rooms. Cinna immediately got up and left Lidda where she was.

"Hey, wait, where are you going?! Don't leave me with these psychopaths!" But Cinna ignored her for the moment and went to Rocko's room.

"You. Come with me," he said. Rocko sighed.

"Well…I know you're all supporting Lidda, but really, all you have is her word. Can you really trust a whiny little girl that's only in it for the attention?" he asked him.

"That's not what this is about…whatever you were referring to. You're coming with me. We only have a few hours for you to rehearse and get Lidda's things ready."

"Coordinated? Believe me, I've already mastered the fine art of moving silently. There can't be much more I would have to learn to appease these slobs."

"Good, then this will be easy for you. We only have a few hours."

**Copper Nyrstar**

_Be polite. Ask nicely. They can't say no to you. They don't know who you are._

"Excuse me, but…I have this really cool idea for what I want to do for the Chariot rides," he told his stylist calmly.

"What sort of idea?" his stylist asked. She nodded slowly and smiled when he explained it to her.

"Finally, a District person that realizes true art is completely incomprehensible! But what about your District partner?" she asked.

"She's strong, so you can have her lift the bucket that will make the paint dry green," he said.

"Good idea. I'll call some people and have everything over here. Thank goodness we have just enough time to get all this ready."

_Very good, Capitolite. Indulge me for just a little bit. This, is, after all, an "artistic masterpiece" to you. There's no symbolism at all. Nothing for you to interpret. Only a glorious display of my interests, veiled under the guise of creativity. It's the least I can do to let it out._

_I can't wait much longer._

Chariot rides

**Augustiana Snow**

"Most of the degenerates here enjoy the Arena itself," Matthias told her, "But _this _has always been my favorite part. Here the tributes are decorated to their bizarre fancy, and through the horrendous costumes I can get a good glimpse into the minds of these people. And sometimes even the tributes themselves. Are you aware that a few selected their own designs this year?"

"No, I didn't know," Augustiana replied. Nor did she care, either. One advantage she had, she knew, was that she was clearly better at understanding the minds of the Capitolites than Matthias, who liked to pretend that he wasn't one of them sometimes. She didn't try to deny herself of her roots, but unlike the President she didn't think that being a Capitolite automatically meant you were a shallow, indulgent hedonist that constantly craved some form of pleasure or entertainment. Someone, after all, had to be intelligent to maintain the State.

_Panem, _she corrected herself. It would still be Panem despite his wishes. Anything to get back at him for stealing her life. For forcing her to be President after him, and for forcing her to sit here with him and act like his puppet.

The two of them were sitting on the balcony of a building that overlooked the street where the chariots would be passing by. At Matthias' insistence, however, no cameras were trained on him to see his reactions to the tributes. They would have to spot him in the crowd themselves, he explained to an eager press that was more interested in hearing his voice than in what he had to say.

The noise of the cheering crowds was even louder now than it had been when they had all been lined up and packed into the Remake center like sardines. The Capitolites' voices grew hoarse as the gates opened, and the first pair of horses trotted out. It was pulled by golden horses, beautiful stallions made humorous by the way they were trying to lick off whatever they had been covered in to give them their color. Hopefully it wasn't anything toxic, but the Capitol wasn't exactly known for its kindness to animals. The boy was wearing what looked to be a sort of miner's uniform—torn at the front and sleeves, of course, so that his torso and arms were almost completely exposed. He waved and flexed at the crowd, but his partner was more subdued, despite having been made to look equally as sexy. She was sitting with her legs stretched out and provocatively crossed, resting them on the side of the chariot. For some reason Augustiana didn't understand, she had glasses, and was occasionally rolling her eyes and pointing at the boy with her thumb. She even tried to single out a few men in the crowd to give them a wink and a suggestive smile.

Naturally, however, Augustiana's interpretation was rendered invalid by Matthias's remarks. She knew he would not stand for any differences of opinion in his annual sizing up of the tributes. And the worst part was, he had a record of being quite accurate in his assessments.

"Rex Adamas is a type I have explained to you before," Matthias said. "He believes that he can win simply through his power and the backing of lustful women alone. Sometimes, this strategy has actually worked, but if he is intelligent he will fall back on another plan. Remember the volcanic arena? The 'beautiful' tributes are sometimes too overconfident. As is the case with Dorea Calis; however, she seems to understand that knowledge and discernment are also vital components to a successful killing spree. She is trying to convey without words that she is a more refined alternative than Rex. But she, too, may have trouble seeing her shortcomings."

Augustiana swallowed her irritation and nodded. What could she say? He was the expert in body language and in analyzing ulterior motives. If he was 70 or so years younger, he would maybe make a great tribute. But fate did not see it that way, and so it placed him in the Capitol.

The second chariot was pulled by horses that had been dyed purple that behaved in a similar manner as the golden ones. The tributes were dressed as a medieval-style king and queen, but rather than holding hands or feigning a happy marriage in accordance with their role, they made no eye contact. The boy at least glanced at the crowd, attempting to give some sort of intimidating gaze, but the girl's eyes stared ahead, occasionally looking at her surroundings. But whenever she looked at her partner her glance turned into a glare filled with worry and hatred.

"They hate each other," Matthias said simply. "It will make for an interesting fight. According to my files, Tiberius Townsend gave Steeleia Sharpe her scar. He was unsatisfied with her…hesitancy in conforming to the Career lifestyle."

Augustiana ignored him as Steele suddenly recognized Matthias and Augustiana. The two girls' eyes met, and Steele gave Augustiana a pleading look.

_Whatever ounce of humanity you have left in you,_ she seemed to say, _Don't let them take it._

Augustiana looked at Matthias for a moment, wanting to ask him if he had seen that. He had not, apparently, for the third chariot was coming out, pulled by gray horses. The two tributes were on the younger side, and so they were dressed as adorable scientists in labcoats, although the girl stood out thanks to her indigo scarf.

"Noiz Huxley was a hacker. Our machines caught her wiring some money to an employee of the Kerrs. The crime syndicate in 8," Matthias explained.

"Is it true the Kerrs murdered that peacekeeper?" Augustiana asked nervously. How did the Districts produce such dangerous individuals at the same time with people like Steele, that seemed to realize what they were becoming?

"Yes. They don't seem to understand that brothels, drug rings, and smuggling is a market for Capitol criminals only," Matthias replied. "So we killed two birds with one stone by rigging the reapings for both Noiz and Thomas Kerr, the only one in the immediate family eligible."

_Clever, _Augustiana thought. She still had not been taught how to get the reapings rigged, but Matthias had made sure that she had realized early on that it was standard procedure.

The next chariot was pulled by blue horses, and Augustiana chuckled when she the scene taking place there.

**Clyde Morrisey**

"Don't actually do it! Just make it look like it! This is just weird and creepy for me," Thaleia explained nervously. She was wearing a skimy red bikini while he was in red boardshorts. The idea was that he was a lifeguard, and she had just been rescued from drowning. By the time they had both heard about other tributes pulling strings to get what they wanted, it was too late, so Thaleia was getting the privilege of reliving a nightmare.

"I'll only touch you with my lips," Clyde muttered. He could see her wince from his breath. "I don't like this any more than you do. Just…pretend you're asleep. Safe and dry." He kissed her lightly as she closed her eyes, his lips only slightly brushing hers.

_She's seducing you. She wanted this to happen. She's only pretending to be scared so that your masculine instincts of protection will kick in._

_I have no instincts of protection._

_She enjoys it. And you do, too._

_No, neither of us do._

"Why does this scare you, anyway?" he asked her. "Did you not think you'd be objectified by these people when you came here? You could have backed out, you know. No other tribute in history has had that opportunity. You didn't have to reach for my hand."

_But she did because she sees right through you._

_No, she's too innocent for that._

_So she's stupid?_

_No._

"It's not that," Thaleia replied. "This whole thing reminds me of something…awful. I don't want to talk about it. It has nothing to do with you or the Capitol. Just…don't kiss me like you mean it. Just let me be able to breathe."

Clyde quickly connected the dots. "Ok. That much I can do," he said.

_Drown her when you have the chance. She's the most dangerous because she knows about you. She can see your weaknesses like you can see hers._

**Elodie Kruger**

She ignored Darius as he naively waved at the crowd. _Does he actually think they like him? They be adored by anybody that responds to them. _He was dressed as a surgeon—minus the mask so that they could see his smile—and she was a nurse. Looks like her parents' wish was granted, after all.

Coming to the Capitol had certainly opened her eyes, she had to concede. Here the people were somewhat similar to her parents, but not completely. Her mother and father loved to pretend that nothing was wrong with life and that everything was fine; here the people were convinced that their surroundings were immutable truth.

_A truth that they could never withstand being shattered, _she thought. She was going to think more on the subject when the scene in front of her caught her eye. Darius, meanwhile, didn't seem to notice, thinking that it was best to only worry about himself for the moment.

Copper Nyrstar, the boy of District 5, had previously been wearing a glistening brown suit—what his stylists had used to make fabric glisten, Elodie had no idea, but the boy who was wearing it intrigued her far more, anyway. After standing up in his chariot to get the crowd's attention, Riley Covington—the girl, and a muscular one at that—took a large bucket of caramel-colored paint and poured it on him, and Copper seemed to be making every attempt to soak himself in it.

From this scene alone, Elodie could tell that he had requested this himself. No stylist would do a theme this radically different from the generic ones for each District—except for perhaps Cinna, but he would not have consented to the paint if there was any health risk involved.

_The patient, _Elodie told herself, briefly adopting a doctor's jargon in her mind, _Is exhibiting symptoms of some form of dementia. Possibly a kind of narcissism as well. He has no regard for his own health, and he seems eager to convey a sort of message. Its contents are unknown._

No sooner had Elodie thought that than, suddenly, Copper's suit and skin began to change in seconds. The once-shiny brown transformed into a dark green color, and even then parts of Copper's face and suit began to blacken.

How this feat had been accomplished was impossible for Elodie to know, but she now knew very well what sort of message Copper was trying to send. Wasn't his name an indication?

He was trying to show that he was like copper. Initially, a likable individual with a kind demeanor. The bright brown of his suit symbolized copper's initial shininess and beauty. But over time, Elodie knew from chemistry classes in her past, copper could build up a layer of a green substance known as verdigris. For a while that in itself was considered quite pretty, but as her chemistry teacher had shown her class one day—using an old coin called a penny from centuries ago that had experienced this sort of thing—the green color lost its beauty after a while, too, and became an ugly-looking black.

But what was the "real" Copper like? Well, from what Elodie had seen at the reapings recap, he had volunteered. No one volunteered unless they either thought they could win or if they had an inexplicable and insatiable desire to kill.

_And that is what you are on the verge of becoming, Copper, _Elodie realized. _You're probably very anxious to show everyone your true self. I'll take you under consideration._

**Rocko Warner**

"This won't work," he muttered to himself as he watched the chariots of the other Districts all leave, eventually leaving him alone with Lidda. But thankfully, she was not to appear just yet.

"It seems I am left to observe the other straggling chariots until our big performance," he added, again aloud. "I really need to stop muttering to myself. It would be much more suitable for someone like me to keep his thoughts in his head, especially given my line of work. Well, my _former _line of work."

"Yeah, why don't you take your head's advice and shut up!" Lidda called out from somewhere.

"In good time," Rocko promised her. "I won't say a word when your big moment arrives."

"It's _our _big moment, you dumbass!" Lidda replied.

"No, only yours. I'm not sympathetic enough to be adored," Rocko explained frankly.

"Whatever."

He had had to explain to Cinna his story with Lidda (without her being in the room) and how he had stolen her unfinished masterpiece—how could a girl so rude and aggressive make something so beautiful, he didn't know—and when Katniss had apparently explained to him that she liked glass, that had gotten the stylists mind racing. A thief and a glassmaker: what could be done with them?

Apparently, a lot.

District 7 was pulled by green horses, and the boy looked at the animals with concern while the girl looked at the crowd with concern. Neither one of them wanted to be there, especially since the boy was this weird green elf-looking tree sprite or something, and the girl was yet another sexy, muscular lumberjack, except she was trying to hide her arms for some reason.

District 8 had the girl dressed as a sort of mother, sitting her young child—the boy—in her lap, with him wearing overall and a sailor cap while she got to wear a ragged-looking dress, probably to convey the idea of what mothers in the Districts looked like. They were being pulled by red horses. They were both waving and seemed to be enjoying the attention, apparently having been convinced to just enjoy other people's mockery of them.

"But isn't motherhood a foreign concept to Capitoites?" Rocko asked aloud.

"How the hell should I know? Don't ask me! Besides, I can't see what the others look like. I'm sure they all suck, though. Except I heard the 11 people have a good idea going on, I've heard. We'll top it, though."

District 9's chariot was pulled by white horses, but although the animals were fine, the scene was a site to behold. The boy was imprisoned in a prop cage, while the girl was dressed as a sexy warden. The keys, too large to be real, were probably meant to be jingled around or something, but tributes refused to play their parts, just sitting there. The Capitol looked at them for a moment before moving on.

"The cheering's stopped. What's wrong, did somebody fart or something?" Lidda asked Rocko.

"No. Just some dissidents," he replied. Although it was rarely spoken about, it was common knowledge among tributes nowadays that there were occasionally some "rebellious" types that didn't want to go along with the Capitol's agenda for them, usually appearing every 5 years or so. The Capitolites usually did their best not to let them ruin their fun, though.

"Don't get any funny ideas from them," Lidda instructed him. "I want this to be perfect!"

"Don't worry, I'll comply. I need to be noticed, _too_," Rocko said a little harshly. Stupid dumb Lidda had caught the favor of Katniss, Effie and Cinna. Only Haymitch was on his side, but what could he do?

"Why do they focus on people they know can't win?" Rocko asked himself aloud.

"I'm going to ignore that," Lidda replied.

District 10 was another travesty. Apparently something had happened in there, from the angry mutterings of the girl, so now both the tributes were dressed as hillbillies, complete with overalls, straw hats, and pitchforks. Their chariot had even been stuffed with hay to make it resemble a hayride. Rocko could see the boy looking forlornly at the brown horses, as if they reminded him of something. Maybe home?

District 11, however, was a different story. The racially-mixed kid—who was not wearing a hat like last time, what with it being night—had a script of paper in front of him. He was dressed in an all-black suit, and Rocko could hear "Tragic" and "mourn the loss of". That was enough to tell him that there was a mock funeral going on, probably at the insistence of the girl. It was being pulled by, strangely enough, light green horses. Perhaps the colors had been predetermined or something.

"Why would she think that a mock funeral procession was a good idea?" Rocko wondered.

"THAT was Pulse's big idea? Sounds stupid. Nobody wants to see that! At least not before the Games. So, are we going yet?" Lidda asked. Before Rocko could answer, they could both feel the horses beginning to move.

"This'll be great!" he could hear Lidda squeal softly. "I can finally be the beautiful girl I always wanted to be…"

**Matthias Atkinson**

The President yawned as the next few chariots rode by.

"Unfortunately, Augustiana, it seems that the latter half of the chariots were a bit uncreative. Or the tributes uncooperative. Such is the way these things go, some years. Still, the Capitol as a whole was entertained. Now, let us—"

"There's still one more, look!" his heir cried, pointing in surprise at the last chariot. Matthias glanced in the direction she was pointing, polishing his glasses so that his old eyes could get a proper look.

There seemed to be only one tribute there, a boy in dirty clothing reminiscent of some street urchin from his own District. But why was the chariot's seat elevated? Why was there a beam of wood jutting downward? As the Capitol drew in a collective gasp, the Matthias had his answer.

Rising forth from below—and to the Capitolites who couldn't quite see the chariot up close, from nowhere—was Lidda in a sparkling light blue dress, much like the pink one she had worn at her reaping, except there was no bow and it was much less frilly or ridiculous-looking. But this one sparkled with glitter, shimmering in the faces of those fortunate enough to see it up close. Diamonds were embedded in the silk as seamlessly as salt in the ocean, and the outfit itself seemed to even give off a faint light. The dress seemed not like the sort of thing a 12 year old girl would wear, but rather an adult—a bride about to marry royalty. But no groom was in sight; it was just Rocko, the seam-snatcher.

But Lidda herself, strangely enough, was completely encased in a large block of glass divided into sections around her figure, and the colors—light blue above her, green at her sides, black below, red below the green, and yellow above the green—made her seem like a figure carved into a stained glass window. She had a blank expression, trying as hard as she could not to move her face at all. For a moment a few Capitolites briefly thought that she was nothing more than an image, too beautiful to be real. Perhaps the District 12 girl had died on the way or something?

And then, much to everyone's surprise, the street lights of the Capitol all went out at once. A few people screamed, not because they were afraid of some rebel takeover or blackout. Instead, they were shocked by the luminescence of Lidda and her glass prison.

"Wow…she's so beautiful," Augustiana muttered.

Matthias was too mesmerized with the rest of the Capitolites to give a proper response. "Inconceivable…" he whispered to himself. "They shouldn't be able to make such beauty…and out of such an undeserving and ordinary tribute…!" Then he gasped. "Augustiana, look! The boy!"

Rocko had withdrawn a hammer and chisel from his clothes, momentarily unnoticed by the Capitol as he put the tip of the chisel against the glass and banged on it with the hammer gently. A few hits, and the Capitol drew in its breath, eager for and at the same time dreading what would happen next.

"No…don't break it, you fool…" Matthias rasped. If Augustiana had been looking at his face, she would have seen a single tear run down his cheek.

_This is true beauty,_ he thought. _This is a part of my memories. When I was so little, and the state had just been formed. She looks so much like the woman in the window, that woman of insurmountable beauty…and yet, I ordered her to be killed. My greatest—no, my __only__—__regret. The price I was willing to pay to wipe out the old world once and for all, and usher in the new one. And now, in my old age, I see it again. The past, the past I've wanted to lock away from others—those that don't deserve to remember it._

_And this fool, this urchin—he's killing her again!_

A few more screams were heard as the glass that encased Lidda broke, large pieces of it falling harmlessly to the ground. Most likely it had never actually been glass at all, Matthias reasoned, but it did not matter. His only memory of the past—perhaps the very last memory of the past in existence—had just been brought to his attention, only for it to be killed. A few more tears ran down his face as Lidda tumbled backward silently, only to be caught in Rocko's arms. But now, her eyes were closed.

Though no one could see it, Rocko too was beginning to cry. He gently laid Lidda down on the plush seat of the chariot and laid her on her side. The cameras all focused on Lidda's back, and a third outcry resounded across the Capitol.

Wedged in the back of her neck was a sharp, oblong shard of glass surrounded by blood, which flowed freely onto the floor of the chariot.


	22. Training, day 1

**Training, day 1: Forging, thinking, assigning, thanking **

**Rex Adamas**

He woke up as early as he could to find himself among the first to arrive at the training center. The 4 boy was also there, sparring at his partner with a sword while she had a trident. He could pick up their conversation from where he was; they weren't bothering to whisper because as far as they knew they were the only ones around.

"The problem," he could hear Clyde mutter as he made quick slashes at Thaleia's weapon—"Is that a trident is bulky. You need a close-quarters weapon. Which have you mastered?"

"Which have I mastered?" Thaleia repeated. "Well, I was pretty good with daggers."

"Great, when was the last time you used them?"

"A few months ago. I stuck to the trident because I'm really good with it."

"Oh. That's fine. It's a common mistake to think you can do fine with one weapon. Just because you have a specialty doesn't mean you should have just that. There's usually only one of each thing in the Arena, you know."

"I know…I just figured that I'd be the one with the trident."

Rex snickered. Typical 4 people, obsessing over their tridents. If he wanted to he could probably string them up by their gills and cook them like fish. If they actually had gills, of course.

"Keep dreaming, mermaids! 1 beats 4 any day," he told them. He picked up a claymore from the weapons rack and slashed a bit at a dummy, pretending it was a different tribute he was killing each time.

While he was fighting, another advantage Rex realized he had was that nobody really knew why he was here, or how he'd get here. If they did then maybe they'd think he was crazy. He wasn't though; he preferred the term "Badass risk-taker".

It was a few weeks before the Games, and he and some Career friends (Dorea was not among them) were playing poker. A few people had suggested on strip poker that night, but Rex insisted on a more fun version: drunk poker. Everybody but the winner of the round had to take a shot. Time passed, and Rex was the most drunk by the end.

"Ok, you're the ultimate loser," one of his friends had jokingly told him. Rex had laughed with a few hiccups mixed in. "So, you go volunteer at the Games. We don't want to see your sorry ass here anymore." Rex remembered giving an "OK" sign before passing out. Or had he thrown up? He couldn't remember.

Naturally, his friends were a little mad at themselves afterwards for what they had made him do, but Rex was forgiving. He didn't feel at all like he was being sent to his death; besides, it was his last year, anyway.

But Rex couldn't help but think that the incident had defined him; it made him stand before his peers more prominently as the one that really didn't consider the odds of things. It would be fun just for him to go into the Arena. It was a game, after all. A game where most people just happened to die.

Win or lose, Rex wanted to see what would happen.

**Dorea Calis**

The elevator door opened, and she found herself staring into Tiberius' face.

_Don't be scared, _Dorea told herself. _It's just a member of your new family for the next week or so._

"Where's Steele?" Dorea asked. Tiberius regretfully glanced his eyes at her-upward. She was 6'4" while he was only 5'11": a normal height for most people, but among the Careers it made him a little on the short side.

"The inspiring rebel sleeps," he replied. "Now that we're in the elevator together…"

_Oh, no, he had better not be the horny sort!_

"…Give me a quick run-down of fighting attributes." Dorea breathed a sigh of relief. He probably didn't even know about her and Gloss.

"I have no particular special weapon," she began. "I've always been the analytical sort. Is that good enough?" she asked. She really didn't want to reveal too much to this near-stranger, but by the way he was giving orders she could tell that he was appointing himself leader of the Careers. She was fine by that; Dorea preferred following and listening to giving instructions. And dissenting against him couldn't be too hard; Tiberius couldn't possibly be very powerful, if his height was any indication.

"You will be our diplomatic arm, as well as my advisor," he told her.

"Diplomatic arm?" Dorea repeated. Since when did Careers engage in diplomacy?

"You'd be surprised how useful that would be," Tiberius explained. "Recent Games aren't simple affairs any more; they haven't been since after the 75th. Remember the 79th Games? With the volcano creatures?" Dorea nodded. You had to negotiate with them just to pass through parts of the Arena. A few tributes had tried to challenge them, only to die. The only way to appease them for good was to get water from this specific spring and pour a little bit on them; otherwise it was a struggle convincing them to let you go from one side of the Arena to the other. Naturally, the Gamemakers had not actually told anyone about this.

"Ok, I guess. But what do you mean by your advisor?" Dorea asked.

The elevator door opened, and Tiberius walked out without answering. Dorea went after him to the training center. Before they both went past the double doors, Tiberius turned around quite suddenly to explain himself.

"How much have you learned about Steeleia Sharpe?" Tiberius asked her.

"Not much. Why?" Dorea asked. Tiberius proceeded to explain his history with her, and Dorea nodded silently, rapidly jotting down mental notes.

_Tiberius seems to be aware that his drive to kill Steele could hinder his judgment. He's telling me about this not because he thinks it's a weakness; he sees it as an idiosyncrasy that I need to help him control._

_But do I want to keep Steele alive, or should I help him kill her? Does Tiberius fight better when he's furious or when he's rational? I have no way of knowing right now. Maybe I can create some sort of test…_

"So, what do I need to do as your advisor?" Dorea asked. She was beginning to dislike the numerous jobs Tiberius was giving her, but she knew that being valued by a deadly Career could increase her chances for survival.

"Calm me down when Steele rears her ugly head," he told her. "Not necessarily every time I see her. For example, if she and possibly some others try and attack me and then retreat, I will most likely relentlessly pursue her, no matter the dangers. You should be the one to explain why I should not."

"But can I trust you not to turn your anger towards me?" Dorea asked. Tiberius gripped her shoulder, and she felt goosebumps at his touch.

"From one Career to another, I promise that I will not turn my rage against you—unless you deserve it."

Dorea gulped, then nodded again. She really hoped this guy was just bluffing.

**Tiberius Townsend**

"Everyone get over here!" he called out to the other Careers as he and Dorea stepped into the training center. Clyde walked forward first, beckoning Thaleia to follow.

_Clearly he knows how Career alliances work, _Tiberius thought. _Good thing no one here wants to usurp me._

He could see that Rex was ignoring him. "Dorea?" he commanded. Dorea went over as he had instructed, said a few words to Rex, and eventually managed to convince him to come over.

"This will have to be a quick meeting," Tiberius declared. "I intend to make myself the leader of our Career alliance. Would anyone care to contest me?" Rex rolled his eyes, Thaliea looked at Clyde, and he shook his head.

"Very well. I'm assigning you all duties for the Arena. Rex, you shall be our muscle, as the physically strongest of our group."

"Yeah, sure whatever," he said. "Listen, this whole thing is kind of stupid. I'm going to kill all you guys in the bloodbath if I can, anyway," he said, trotting off back to train. "Let me know if that chick from 5 shows up!" he called out as he left.

"I'll go back and get him," Dorea offered.

"No need," Tiberius replied. "I'll persuade him later today. Clyde, how fast are you with attacking?"

"I'm adequate, I suppose," Clyde said awkwardly.

"You are to be our shock troop and our scout. You should be able to strike fast and attack any equals with enough ferocity to keep them occupied until the rest of us show up."

"I don't know how good I'd be at that," Clyde admitted.

"You have 3 days to find out," Tiberius reassured him. "Thaleia, you are to be our spy. Your role is especially important."

"Spy? But we're Careers, we don't spy! We just kill!" Thaleia protested.

"It's ok, he gave me some weird jobs, too," Dorea told her with a slight smile, and Thaleia gave a small chuckle. Tiberius frowned. Humor was for the meek. Which made Thaleia perfect for the job.

"You are to join up with Steele and lead us to her," he explained. "She's too foolish to suspect you, especially if you bond with her as quickly as you have Clyde."

"We're just friends," Clyde insisted. "At least, the Games have made us that way."

"Are you willing to accept your role?" Tiberius asked her. Thaleia nodded, and Tiberius could see that Clyde had a disappointed look on his face.

"Good. Now, you all hereby swear to me that you will not allow whatever levels of leniency, mercy, and hesitancy that you may have been contaminated with won't sway you to the side of the lessers, or seek out some other alliance?" The other three nodded, not entirely sure what he meant by that.

_You only did it because you feel like you had to, _he thought. _How ironic. The one that's reluctant to join that I really need is probably the only one that could be considered a true Career. I hope none of you make any trouble for me._

"Very well, then. You may all resume training. The equals and lessers should be here soon enough." The group was about to leave when a voice declared:

"The spying thing? It's not gonna work, Danger Zone. I won't tell, though. I'm no snitch!"

"Who said that!?" Tiberius demanded. The voice didn't sound like anyone here. Was it…?

"You don't need to know who I am! Find me if you want to…or not."

Tiberius scanned the training room, looking carefully at all the dummies, weapon racks, extra rooms, and stations that the tribute could be hiding behind. She had to be in plain sight somewhere, surely! He heard footsteps padding softly, fading. The doors behind him closed and she was gone. It had to be a she, he knew, and he had a good idea of who it was.

"Did any of you see her?!" he asked the others as they went to various stations to train. They ignored him, but Thaleia had a smug grin on her face.

"Kill her on sight when we get into the Arena!" he called out.

_Congratulations, Noiz. I may just upgrade you from lesser to equal. Maybe._

**Steeleia Sharpe**

Within minutes, the other tributes began to arrive one by one to the training center. By the time she showed up nearly everyone else was there. Steele hated herself for having slept late, but most of her night was spent lying awake to make sure that Tiberius didn't try to kill her early.

_Speaking of death, _she thought, _Where is Lidda? _The girl from 12 was the one person who she hadn't seen yet, aside from Noiz. But she hadn't died in the chariot rides, so she wasn't as interesting. But at Lidda even died at all? She'd find out soon enough, she supposed. She couldn't worry about her right now.

As she took a test and the edible plants station, she noticed a boy staring at her. His arms were folded across his chest, and he stood in a corner, his left foot leaning against the wall. Who was he, and why did he single her out?

_Hopefully I haven't found another Tiberius._

She got about half of the plants right, and she was about to go to the shelter-building station when the boy suddenly started walking towards her. She pretended like she didn't notice him, walking at a brisk pace towards her goal.

_No, I don't want another rival! One is hard enough to manage._

**Thaleia Starling**

Of course, somebody else just _had _to get Steele's attention. Who knew what this guy wanted? What would a boy from 9 want with a Career, anyway? He definitely wasn't a rival, that was for sure. He was looking at her, but not with hatred or attraction. It was the same why Clyde looked at her; a sort of admiration and kinship. Thaliea briefly thought how strange it was, the way a few glances could mean so much.

She went to an adjacent station, the snare-making one, to eavesdrop on the conversation. She couldn't properly tie the ropes, and even if she had been paying attention to her work she doubted she could do it well. Maybe spying was a good suit for her, anyway. She watched the situation unfold before her.

Steele gave a jump, messing up her under-construction tent as the boy from 9—his name escaped Thaleia-cleared his throat to indicate his presence.

"What do you want? Leave the killing for the Games!" Steele said harshly.

"No, no! That's not what I want," he said defensively. "Why aren't you with the others?"

"It's a long story," Steele explained, "But Tiberius—the boy from 2—hates me. I don't have the right Career mindset to him. But personally, I don't see what's wrong with trying not to be a bloodthirsty killing machine. They don't always win, you know."

"No, but the Capitol makes them out to be that way afterwards," the boy replied. "So, you hate him, too, huh? He gave you that scar, didn't he?"

"Yep. Said it was a mark of my leniency. Apparently not being a cold-blooded killer like him makes you a bad Career, or something. I don't know much about the other Careers, but I don't think they're crazy killers, either. Except for maybe Rex, but he seems more like the sadistic sort."

"A bunch of brainwashed Capitolite assholes, that's what they are," the boy said. Thaleia took a bit of offense to that remark. She wasn't brainwashed by the Capitol! She was a Career by choice! Like everyone else in her District…maybe he was onto something here. The conversation went faster than her thoughts, though, so she had to keep listening.

"But you're different. You have to be, if you didn't feel like you had to be with them. I'm Amruen Neversky," the boy said, pronouncing his surname with surprising articulation.

"Steeleia Sharpe," Steele replied. "But just call me Steele. My parents gave me the name. They wanted me to be the perfect Career, so they dropped me off at the Academy." Amruen snorted.

"What fools. Good thing you didn't become one of them."

"Yeah, I know. I could always tell that there was just something not right about what I was being told to do."

"Did you ever…rebel?" Amruen asked them. "My parents did. They were these big-time anti-Capitol dissedents. They got killed for it." Steele looked at him in shock.

"No…not like that. I'm so sorry about your parents. It must have been hard for you. At least they loved you," she said.

"Yeah. I'm here because I wanted to carry on their legacy. Back in 9 I would always yell 'Death to the Capitol'. And now here I am!"

"You mean your reaping was rigged?" Steele asked. Amruen nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. If he was telling the truth about himself, it would make sense for him to have been rigged, Thaleia reasoned. _Mine sort of was, too. In a weird way._

"Wow…I don't think we're exactly alike," Steele explained. "I'm really more against the Careers than the Capitol. The Hunger Games is a fact of life."

"That's just what they've been telling you!" Amruen insisted. "I'll give you the truth, when we have the chance. But not here. What I really came to ask was…wanna be allies?"

"Sure! You can fight, right? I haven't seen you train at all."

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I just don't want _them _watching me. I'm not their pet or their circus freak."

"Great! I didn't expect I'd get an ally. I thought you were a stalker or another rival wannabe that hated me for no reason!" Amruen laughed.

"So, wanna help me with this?" Steele asked.

"Sure thing, I've had to live in shacks quite a bit. I know what I'm up against." Amruen then proceeded to explain how to set up a tent. Thaleia listened, then ignored him when they were done and kept working on her snares.

Well, this sucked. All she had to tell Tiberius was bad news! And if she tried to join them now, chances were Amruen would recognize and not let her join them, since she was technically a Career, although she was probably the nicest one, unless Dorea had a kind streak to her that she didn't know about. And even if Amruen did allow her to join, she'd probably get stuck as a third wheel. She didn't have many friends who had been in those sorts of things back home, but from what she had heard it was horrendous. The couple would just ignore you completely, like you didn't even exist. Thaleia would have to exist to them, otherwise they wouldn't trust her into divulging key information, like where they planned on going or something.

She wasn't quite sure if those two could be considered a couple yet, but Thaleia decided it was best to give them some time. She'd just have to join later. Hopefully Tiberius wouldn't be too mad and he'd understand.

**Darius Irons**

He met the boy from 12 by a group of dummies meant to be hacked away at with daggers, disappointed that this guy clearly knew a bit more than he did.

"How did you get so good with those?" Darius asked.

"The dagger is a very useful weapon for people that need to strike quickly," he explained. "I've taught myself how to be light on my feet for my…job back home, and the dagger was a perfect choice for someone like me. It was hard to get one, though, but eventually I fenced enough money. Even got this old coin from centuries in the past." The boy briefly showed it to him, the thin copper disc held by the sides of index and middle fingers, before withdrawing it, putting it…somewhere?

"What was your job?" Darius asked. "I've always kinda wanted to know what it was like in the other Districts."

"Well, to ease your pondering, 12 was a rat-hole. I was a thief, christened the seam-snatcher," Rocko explained. "My District partner, Lidda—who is very much alive—was a glassmaker. Most predictably, I stole a project of hers the night before the reapings." Darius' jaw nearly dropped. Lidda, alive? After that crazy stunt? And who was this kid, unapologetically claiming to be a thief? District 12 sure was a strange place, if those two were any indication.

"I heard about the chariots. What happened?" Darius asked. "And more importantly, how did you pull it off?"

"Well, obviously, it was fake. News of Lidda's death was greatly exaggerated," Rocko replied. "As for the technical aspects, I cannot help you. I simply did as I was told, and Lidda wore a thick, flesh-colored pad around her neck that was filled with red paint. I thought it was obvious, given its too-bright color. Blood is darker and wouldn't flow the way the paint did. But hopefully you knew that." Darius didn't want to admit that he hadn't seen blood very often.

"Well, where is she now?" he asked. Rocko groaned.

"She wishes to make her dramatic entrance during lunch. Katniss is teaching her how to shoot a bow, in the meantime. I can almost guarantee that it won't go well. Feel free to spoil it to the others. I, meanwhile, would like to work on my combat skills."

"I see. You wanna be allies?" Darius asked as nicely as he could.

"No."

"Oh…" Darius walked off in disappointment. He could probably find someone else, though.

What Rocko had said about Lidda trying to learn archery got his mind racing, however. He proceeded to the archery station and asked the station's manage a few questions.

"So...what are bows made of?" he asked.

"I don't know! Wood, metal, string?" the Capitolite barked in reply.

"And the arrows?"

"A blade, usually a stick or something, and some feathers at the end. Why do you ask? Did you honestly not know what they looked like?" he demanded.

"Of course I knew what they looked like. I just needed to know what they were made of," Darius asked. He then proceeded to grab a bow and some arrows to shoot at one of the targets available. His first shot was a clean miss, but the next one managed to hit. He kept at it until his arrows were all used up, and then he went to retrieve them.

"These have iron tips, some sort of feathers made of silk, and metal rods for the shaft," Darius said aloud. "The way this is designed suggests that I don't necessarily need these materials. Same goes for the bow…but where would I be able to find twine or thin strands of nylon in the arena?" Sponsors, maybe? But where would he hit another tribute? The vital areas, obviously. But…

Darius had spent years studying the muscular and skeletal systems so that he could make artificial versions of whatever was lost on the people that needed them, which so far consisted of Nora and a few others from home. He may not have a good idea where all the vital arteries on a person were, but he had a vast knowledge of just where to shoot to render an arm or a leg nearly unusable. All he had to do was work on his aim and maybe study some anatomy charts if there were any around.

**Teddy Graves**

A bell rang, and a Capitolite called all the tributes to lunch. _Good, _he thought. _I've been meaning to stop walking around and touring the training center like it's some kind of museum._

He watched as all of the other tributes found ways to sit with who they wanted. The Careers, minus the girl from 2, all sat together, with the girl from 4 saying something about a dent in their plans. The boy from 2 stood up in anger, but the girl from 1 managed to get him to sit back boy from 1 was stroking his neck nervously, apparently suddenly self-conscious about it.

_Looks like that "persuasion" thing worked. Noiz owes me a dollar, _he thought. Noiz—the clever girl from 3 that was good at hiding and nickname-giving, 99% of the time—had apparently been spying on them when they all met in the training center early that morning. She had told him about it when after they had run into each other during their respective wanderings. Hers was business, but his was pleasure. She pointed out when Rex began to trudge off to the bathroom and noticed Tiberius following him. Teddy followed the two, and when he was inside he found Tiberius tightening his grip around Rex's neck, all while not missing the urinal. Teddy had been amazed that someone so huge had been brought into submission under someone 8 inches shorter. He reported his finding to Noiz, who claimed that that wasn't enough for Rex to cave, but it looked like she was wrong. He could see her looking at him now, waving some bills in her hand. He grinned back with a wave.

He said hi to Pulse, who was sitting at a table by herself, but within hearing distance of the boy from 3 and both tributes from 8.

"Hey, come join me!" Pulse beckoned.

"Just a sec. Gotta go say hi to some people."

"Sure, ok. Just hurry back! You're like, the only one I know here." Teddy promised her he would and went off.

Other groups included the girl from 5 and the boy from 6, who certainly contrasted with each other in terms of appearance but seemed to be getting along just fine. There was also the girl from 2 and both tributes from 9 that were together, although the girl from 9 seemed a bit distant from the other two. Noiz was sitting alone, and so were both tributes from 7 and 10. And where was…?

"Hey, guys, I'm back! What did I miss?" Lidda cried out from the entrance to the cafeteria. The girl from 8 immediately rushed over to her and sobbed, saying that she thought she was dead and that there had been a horrible accident. Teddy had been impressed by that little stunt, although it was ruined a bit by Pulse, who had insisted that Lidda could not possibly be dead, and that it was "so painfully obvious" to her. Others were more impressed by the spectacle of last night itself, not caring whether or not Lidda had died. Still others had no idea it had even happened. The girl from 8 escorted Lidda to her table, and so the alliance grew by one member, it seemed.

_They're all toast, _Teddy thought. _What's the point of getting involved? We were meant to be forgotten. Names and faces meant to fade away after our cannon sounds. But you didn't seem to realize that, did you, Lidda? Or maybe you did, and you're just trying to make your last moments memorable?_

He went over to the girl from 7's table. There was something he intended to say to her.

"I don't really know if I want an alliance," the girl said. "I've been trying to lay low."

"Heh, heh. That would be pretty easy, if it weren't for all the spies and observant tributes around here?"

"What spies?" the girl asked nervously.

"You didn't know? We've got a lot of observant watchers this year," Teddy warned. The girl gasped.

"No. They can't know. I haven't said a word to them. All I did on the train was cry. I wasn't friendly on the chariots. I picked up the heaviest weapon I could find that wasn't a battleaxe…"

"Don't worry, you're safe now," Teddy reassured her. "No one's noticed yet but me, be careful. I think it's cool, though, what you're trying to do. Pretend to be weak to hide your strength."

"Thanks for warning me," she replied. "Tomorrow I might want to re-think the whole Johanna thing. Maybe I should just be myself. I don't know. I just don't want to end up like my sister, dead without even having a chance. She was in the 81st Games. Her throat was slit the morning after the bloodbath. Careers ambushed her alliance. And before that, my parents had been killed. Something about giving away some Capitol secrets."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that," Teddy remarked, backing away. When she had mentioned her family, Teddy didn't want to admit that he couldn't really picture what that was like. To him, "family" meant just a bunch of people you were related to. Nothing more special than that, and his was constantly expanding thanks to his father's escapades. He briefly wondered what it would be like to have a family like this girl's apparently had been. Would he have turned out different? Would he have been less cynical? Maybe a bit more like Pulse, seeing death as another form of life? Or better yet, would he have cherished what little joys he had?

Maybe he had to rethink a few things, too.

"To be honest, I don't really know if I can win," she said. "I mean, I'm not sure what to do. Maybe I'm focusing too much on angles and how other people see me. Maybe I should just be myself, you know? Except, I don't really like myself. I've had too much pain in my life to really be a philanthropist, like that girl from 8. But does it really matter how you play the Games?"

"No, it doesn't," Teddy admitted. "But if I had to pick a winner, it would be you. My only other choice is Pulse, but she likes death. At least, I think she does."

"What about you?" she asked. "Wouldn't you want yourself to win?" Teddy chuckled and shook his head. He outstretched his hand, prompting her to shake it.

"Teddy Graves," he said.

"Cecilia Banggai," the girl replied.

"Well, Cecilia, you're in luck. You've already won the Games. Now all you have to do is win the victory over yourself," Teddy said cryptically before walking away.

_Ponder that a bit. It should do you some good._

**Pulse Fallow**

The whole "alliance" thing seemed like a pretty tempting offer for her. She envied the trio over there. Having a bunch of new friends around would make the Games a bit more bearable when the depression really hit, if it ever did. She hoped Teddy would join, but something in her told her that he wouldn't.

But most of all, she wanted to be close to Denelle.

Pulse hadn't had some dramatic adventure with her sexuality like she heard other people did, in other times and places. Instead she had sort of known from the get-go that she liked other girls. But that had never mattered much. Her dad and uncle were really just a flimsily-disguised gay couple, and at her work she had seen only 3 girls that had just so happened to be around her age and attractive. That was it, and she had never had any immense longing for them because she knew they and their pretty faces and black dresses would be back the next time someone in their family died. And in 11, death was quite common.

Judging from what she had heard about Denelle—from Teddy during training, who had heard from Noiz, the smaller girl that she knew so little about—she was the tolerant sort. If the gossip was true and Thomas' family were criminals, then she'd have no trouble with a butch lesbian that liked to look at graves. And if Pulse said something stupid, then Denelle would just laugh instead of getting offended, like a reasonable person would do. Speaking of graves, where was Teddy?

"There you are!" she cried when Teddy sat back down.

"Let me guess, you want to talk to Denelle and get her to accept you in her alliance?" he asked. "I don't see where I fit in."

"No, I just need advice. See…" Pulse paused for a bit, thinking of the most clever ways to subtly say what she wanted. No, that was stupid.

"I've always liked girls. And I've got this big crush on Denelle."

"Huh," Teddy remarked, as if she had been telling him the weather report. "Yeah, I didn't know how you'd react, but I figured you were a lesbian. The haircut and the muscles gives it away. But that probably wasn't intentional."

"Oh, wow. That was easy! What do you think she'll say?"

"You're the one that was listening and staring at her for a few minutes. You tell me!"

"Hahahaha! Oh, God, I was, wasn't I? That's gonna be so awkward…" Pulse said. She felt like she should be embarrassed, but instead she was amused. Maybe being around Teddy had given her this warped sense of humor.

"But seriously, you tell her if you want to. I'd suggest wait until it gets important," Teddy replied. "But remember. Most of us are going to die."

"I've been around death plenty, don't worry!" Pulse reassured him.

"Sure, but did you know anybody in those graves?"

"I knew them when they were placed under there, yeah."

"No, I mean…" Teddy closed his eyes for a bit. Pulse didn't see what the big deal was. Couldn't he just say what he needed to say? Why were people so worried about stepping on toes? Pulse was starting to think that girl from 10 was getting to everybody. If people wasted time apologizing for their words rather than their actions, than they'd die from exhaustion from talking, and the family business would skyrocket.

"What? Spit it out!" Pulse cried with a bit of impatience.

"I'm just worried that if one of them dies, and if they're all close to you, then you'll be helpless. I don't want you feeling like that," Teddy explained. "I've accepted my death, and you've probably accepted death in general, but what about people you know and care for? I don't think you should have any attachments."

"Aww! That's sweet! You have this crush on me, and so you don't want me with Denelle or anybody else! Don't worry, I said I like girls, but I could try guys or something. I don't know." Teddy grinned, knowing that she was joking.

"But seriously, though, I'll be fine. Not when the master of fatalism is at my side!" Pulse joked.

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to join me! They'd love us together!" Pulse pleaded.

"I'm not really into that, no thanks," Teddy insisted. Pulse still smiled outwardly, but smiled inwardly. _Of course he'd say that._

"Well, like it or not, buster, I'm going over there," she declared, picking up her tray of food and joining the others, leaving Teddy to stare at her in wonder.

They were in the middle of a rousing story, with the premise supplied by the little Indian kid, the characters by the other little boy, and a happy ending by Denelle.

"And then, when the conflict was resolved and all the characters died, their legacies were written on their graves," Pulse added as Denelle was finishing the story. A happy ending was not complete without a peaceful death. The two boys looked at her suspiciously, but Denelle, of course smiled warmly.

"Oh, hey! I take it you want to join us?" she asked.

"I sure do!" Pulse declared, shaking the butterflies out of her stomach.

It was nice to have some living people to talk to for a change, she mused.

**Lidda McGaffigan**

Last night had been the greatest night of her life. Sure, none of those assholes gave her more than the single glance the next day, but she had garnered enough attention from earlier.

For once, she had been beautiful. Rather than just being the creator of beauty, she was its subject. For a while, Lidda almost forgot about the Games completely. Until…

"So, you just sharpen a rock and you can use that for an arrowhead?" the musclebound girl from 5 asked.

"Given the proper tools, yes," the smaller boy from 6 added.

"Really, now? And you figured this out, how?" the girl asked in disbelief.

"I just observed how the bow and the arrows were built, paid attention to how the parts fit together, and came to my own conclusions," the boy replied. "Now that I know how it's all made archery is a bit easier for me."

"Well, could you teach me?" Lidda demanded, slamming her tray down on the table. "Katniss sucked at it. Looks like I can be her clone."

"I don't think she wants you to. You'd be a pretty crappy clone if you looked nothing like her, which you don't," Riley remarked.

"Yeah, well you're not exactly the best Pulse clone, either," Lidda pointed out. "You can't even think of something creative! You have to have whatever your weird District partner's name is do it for you. At least she could do that."

"Oh, _excuse me _for failing to stack up well in your creative hierarchy. And I'll have you know that Copper isn't weird. He's strange," the girl from 5 snapped. "Not like that lame wannabe thief in 12."

"At least he's not cozying up to somebody to make himself the perfect non-Career hero!" Lidda countered.

"Could you two stop?! I can teach you both, if you want. I don't really know all that much myself, though," the boy said.

"Stop what?" Lidda and the other girl asked.

"The fighting, what else?" they both laughed.

"Oh, that's just conversation! I'm sorry, but Darius, you're a real pussy if that's what you think fighting is!" the girl said. "I would demonstrate on Lidda here, but she's too small."

"Yeah, chill out, Darius. What are you, a peacenik?!" Lidda demanded.

"So, what do they call you?" the girl from 5 asked.

"Lidda McGaffigan. I don't want to hear you forget."

"Riley Covington. Remember me as the actual badass among this gaggle of gobblers."

"Hahaha! Good one!" Lidda cried. Darius ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't know what to make of you two," he remarked. "One was enough, but two? Jeez…meet me after lunch and I'll try and explain the archery thing. But I want you each to teach me something in return."

"Sure thing," Riley replied.

"All, hell, no! That's unfair! I don't know anything!" Lidda protested.

"Really? So you're trying to convince me you're retarded?" Riley demanded.

"I'll convince you of whatever you want! Just watch me run circles around you…in a metaphor-like way!" Lidda countered. But then she remembered that she had someone else's attention.

"Oh, wait, Darius, I think there is something I can teach you. Are you good with rope, and do you got any glass?" she asked.

"Yes with the first, no with the second," Darius replied. Lidda whipped out a jagged piece from the folds of her clothes.

"We can use my token. Just don't touch the pointy end, it hurts like shit," she said.

**Cinna**

"Do you know why you have been summoned?" asked the voice of Matthias Atkinson from a TV screen.

"No, sir," Cinna replied. _Although I have a pretty good idea. _The stylist wasn't entirely worried, more interested in what Matthias had to say. The president was less prone to ordering executions unless they were absolutely necessary, and from his point of view, Cinna reasoned, he probably wasn't able to think of many good reasons to kill of a stylist.

"What occurred last night should not be repeated. Ever," Matthias said sternly. "I am not only _ordering_ that you make no attempt to mimic what you did last night in later Games. I am also _pleading_ with you."

"What do you mean, sir?" Cinna asked. Matthias sighed.

"It is something not meant for your ears, Cinna," the President replied. "But I must inform you of my personal reaction to what I saw."

"And that was?" Cinna asked expectantly. He knew that whatever was being said would most likely never be repeated to someone else. A confession from the President of Panem himself.

"During, the administration of President Prexy," Matthias began, "I was the chairman for a now-defunct committee. The Cultural Nurturing Committee, it was called. Naturally, this was a euphemism for our real work, the destruction of the past. Anything old, anything that had survived the tragedies that befell us before the formation of the State."

"You mean the floods before Panem?" Cinna asked. Matthias looked at him inquisitively for a moment before nodding. Cinna found this hesitancy suspicious.

"Quite. It was our task to destroy anything from the past that we could not claim as our own creation," Matthias explained. "It was quite an ambitious project, and I remember when I was an aide to the previous chairman I expressed my doubts that it would actually work—that we would be able to destroy every work of art, piece of literature, and every film containing something from before the formation of Panem. And judging from our cameras in the training center, the 12 boy has something we overlooked as his token. So it seems that the endeavor failed, despite my best efforts. A disappointment, but nevertheless predictable."

"But," Matthias went on, "I never regretted the attempt. Save for one occasion. I was in a cathedral that would later be bombed out during the rebellion. I do not remember its location; my memory is old and sometimes failing. But I can never forget what I saw in there. It was a stained glass window, with the image of some elegantly beautiful woman, staring blankly at me as a glanced up at her, inspecting the building to determine how it should be demolished. As I made the arrangements and spoke to my associates regarding the demolition, I could not shake the feeling that the woman in the window was looking at me. Can you believe it? An image I knew not to be real, watching me? As I was done determining what to put in place of the cathedral, should the time ever come, I turned back to look at it one last time. I swear to you, Cinna, the woman was looking back at me. Our eyes met, and for a moment, my desire to destroy her—to kill her—was gone."

"But it was too late," Matthias finished somberly. "I had already given the orders. I suppose I had lingered inside the building too long, and before I knew it there was a loud crash as a wrecking ball tore through her from behind, sending the shards of glass falling down. I was at the entrance, too far away to be hit, and I rushed out of the building in a fright. Shortly after my associates in the committee found me, they realized that the building was empty, and gave the order to blow up its foundations with dynamite. I watched from a distance as the cathedral crumbled, thinking only of the woman inside. The woman whose execution I had ordered. Because I thought it necessary to wipe out her era, to usher in one in which I could rise to power. And now, here I am, at the top, head of state. But last night you forced me to relive my only regret. Lidda looked nothing like the woman, and the design of the window didn't, either, but then when it was destroyed by the boy…it was enough to bring the memories back."

"I apologize for triggering such an event from your past," Cinna replied.

"No. It is I who should be thanking you. You have reminded me of the terrible cost at which I have paid in my efforts to usher in a new world. I am one of the few, if not the only, person left that remembers the world before the rebellion, before the state we call Panem. I have archived away in my private study as much of the past world as I could—a world which I believed was necessary to erase from the minds of the Capitol forever. It was last night in which I was reminded the repercussions of my decision."

"But where do I fit into this?" Cinna asked.

"Your actions have given the Capitol a foretaste of what is to come," Matthias explained. "I do not know what you have heard about the Arena, but other parts of the past—the past I have not wanted anyone else to see, in fear that they would grow to miss it—will be unearthed. Not the woman in the window, but from a time even earlier. I intend to unearth it again, only to kill it before the audience. To show that, as much as I regretted it, it had to be destroyed. For the good of the state. For the preservation of Panem. Goodnight, Cinna." And with that, the TV screen flickered off.

Cinna pondered the President's words for a moment. He was not interested so much in the President's ideas or his intentions for the Arena, but he was intrigued at how this could have meant so much to him. He had simply heard that Lidda had made stained glass, and that Rocko was a thief. He had been trying to show that innocent girls like Lidda could have become so much more in their lives if they had not been killed by the Capitol. It was his own way of rebelling.

And yet, the President seemed to appreciate it.

This was a weakness Cinna knew he had to share.

**AN: This was loooong. And of course, I wrote it at night. Remind me to stop being so nocturnal with updating XD**

**I apologize if the President's rambling made no sense at all. I intend to make it go somewhere, but I'm not quite sure what the consequences of his (crazy) ideas will be.**

**As I explained with Dorea before, Pulse's submitter wanted her to be a lesbian. I did not add that on to her, but I didn't want it to be shown initially because it wouldn't have made much sense that way. Plus I want her to be remembered for more than just that.**

**Also, I need some specific feedback. Of all 24 tributes, which one is:**

**Your favorite**

**Your least favorite**

**The one you think has had the most development**

**The one you think has had the least development**

**Answering all this will get you your 25 sponsor points in place of a trivia question. **

**Also, what did you think of Lidda "dying"? You didn't think I'd actually kill her before the Games, did you? Although, I will be honest, writing that description of Lidda on her chariot almost made me cry. Not because it was sad, but because I felt like I was writing a masterpiece. Yeah, I know that's kinda weird. But still…I loved writing that scene.**

**Finally…some of you have been asking for the tributes ages, so here they are:**

**Rex: 18**

**Dorea: 18**

**Tiberius: 17**

**Steele: 17**

**Noiz: 15**

**Mohan: 12**

**Clyde: 17**

**Thaleia: 16**

**Riley: 16**

**Copper: 17**

**Darius: 14**

**Elodie: 14**

**Cecilia: 16**

**Dade: 12**

**Thomas: 13**

**Denelle: 18**

**Amruen: 16**

**Noelle: 17**

**Matthew: 18**

**Julia: 13**

**Teddy: 15**

**Pulse: 15**

**Rocko: 16**

**Lidda: 12**


	23. Sympathy, deception and schemes

Training day 2: Sympathy, deception and schemes

**Riley Covington**

Sparring with the tykes—well, it was really just Lidda, Darius wasn't much younger than her—was entertaining, to say the least. Nevertheless, it had its annoying moments.

"Ow, fuck! It hurt to punch that dummy!" Lidda cried, shaking her fist to ease the pain. Riley had been trying to teach her how to fight hand-to-hand, but she was more of a learner rather than a teacher.

"You don't just go in there and make your knuckles a battering ram, kid! There's a technique to this, and once you get it you can take on anybody, even Tiberius! If you can reach him, that is. Don't worry, he's a little shorty," she glanced behind her to see where Tiberius was. Far away. Good, he didn't hear.

"That would be great, accept I'm even more of a freakin' midget!" Lidda cried.

"Oh, relax, you're normal for your age. The rare towering 12 year old is most commonly found in District 13, anyway," Riley reassured her.

"I don't get it," Darius asked. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside them with various materials, trying to see if he could make a bow from scratch. Riley had to concede it was a smart move; chances were bows were rare in the Arena.

"You know, cuz' 13's got radiation and stuff? And radiation makes you huge or something? At least, that's would this old neighbor I had would say," Riley replied. "You really need to lighten up, Darius! Maybe break out into a sweat, for once. Care to spar with me?"

"No thanks, I've learned everything I need to for the Arena," he explained. "With you two on my side, we should be able to make a pretty good team. At least...that's what I'll be hoping."

Riley turned to Lidda as she began to repeatedly punch her dummy on the bottom of his chin, just like she had been telling her to do. She didn't want to think about having to kill her and Darius at all.

_Are you kidding? They'll probably just kill themselves in the bloodbath or something. You won't have to lift a finger!_

She watched Lidda for a few more minutes, noticing that her blows got a bit more deadly each time. Lidda, of course, couldn't see any change, but Riley did. And finally, Lidda's knuckles connected with the dummy's chin in such a way that it would have been knocked out cold if it was a human.

"Whoo! Lidda, that was badass!" Riley cried, clapping for her a bit. Lord knew the girl needed as much praise as she could get or she'd get feisty and grumpy. And from what Rocko had told her it wasn't a good idea to piss off Lidda. She couldn't actually hurt you, but she could torment you with her voice.

"Which punch, the one I just did?" Lidda asked. "It was the same as all the others!"

"No, that was the knockout move!" Riley explained. "You hit the dummy in the right spot in his chin, or jaw or whatever. You would have touched a nerve—if it were there—and the blow would have gone to his brain and knocked him unconscious!" Lidda was naturally skeptical.

"The hell? That can't be possible!" she protested. "I mean, maybe _you _can do it, but I certainly can't!"

"But you just did—or you would have. I would demonstrate on somebody, but I don't have anybody to work on. Just bear with me, Lidda. And if it doesn't work you can always kick him the crotch a million times!"

"But what my enemy's a girl?!" Lidda asked worriedly. Riley snickered, wondering how Lidda came to the conclusion that if her opponent was female than she was automatically invincible.

"Just punch her in the stomach! Try and hit her liver," Riley suggested.

"Or use those glass shards to slash at tendons in their legs," Darius suggested. "They could bleed to death if they don't know how to treat it."

"Huh. Thanks for some suggestions on weak spots, guys!" Lidda replied. "But what about the heart?"

"You can't punch that out, and glass shards can't go that deep. They'd get stuck in the ribs, anyway," Darius explained. "You'd need to be good with swords for that."

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?! Gimme a sword! I wanna slice some asshole up in the bloodbath!" Lidda cried.

"Whoa, whoa, Lidda. Easy there. I don't want you turning into a Career-wannabe," Riley told her. "Plus, Darius and I both suck at swords. You probably would, too, if we taught you. Hell, your arms probably can't even lift one."

"Dammit," Lidda groaned. "I should've known neither of you slobbering jackasses knew a damn thing about swords! I guess that's Career stuff, huh?" Riley was about to take her turn at a dummy when Lidda spoke up again.

"Hey, wait! I haven't taught you guys how to cut somebody with glass yet!"

"Lidda, there won't be any glass shards in the Arena," Darius countered. "And I doubt that there's an intricate technique to throwing a big chunk of glass at somebody and hoping that you hit their neck."

"Oh, you bet your sorry ass there is!" Lidda insisted. She took out some glass shards from her clothes, having acquired them from an emotional tribute from a previous year who had broken some stuff in anger and frustration.

"What the hell, just indulge her," Riley muttered to Darius. "At least she's not an emotional wreck like Rocko said she'd be."

"Rocko doesn't understand that if you're nice to Lidda, she's nice back," Darius remarked. "In her own bizarre way, of course."

So the two let Lidda "teach" them how to attack somebody at close-range with glass shards. Neither of them pointed out how ineffective such tactics would be if you had to get up very close to your opponent just to slightly hurt them. Oddly enough, though, Lidda seemed to know the exact places to slash at to make the dummy's stuffing run. Next came throwing specifically shaped glass shards (Lidda had to smash some on the floor to get them to be the appropriate shapes) and using them like throwing knives to possibly slit the opponent's throat. All was fine until…

"Hey, don't be a better thrower than me! I'm the teacher, you're supposed to learn, you perfect little bitch!" Lidda fussed at Riley. For obvious reasons, Riley could throw better much better than Lidda, although none of them were able to actually get a piece of glass to lodge itself into a dummy's neck like Lidda had claimed was possible.

"Thanks for the bizarre compliment," Riley giggled. "Maybe next time, though, you could throw a little…better?"

"It wasn't a compliment, you dumbass! I'm supposed to be the expert here! Don't become better than me now, or you'll make me sit and watch you while you make yourself tougher!" Lidda complained. And with little reason she walked away with a huff. "I can't teach you!" she cried. Darius sighed.

"I'll get her back," Darius said, jogging after her. Riley shook her head.

"You'd have been such a powerhouse at the training center," Riley remarked. Lidda had so much fire for someone from District 12. Weren't they supposed to be instant bloodbaths, except for that one time?

She went back to sparring, this time with a trainer that was swapping out the dummies, when she was approached by the huge boy from 1.

"Hey," he said as flirtatiously as he could, leaning against a dummy on her left. "I was thinkin'…well, you're badass. You're also kinda hot. Real hot, actually. Wish there were more girls like you. Not like those stick-thin chicks from back home. I mean girls with a sexy balance of curves and muscle. And, DAMN do you have it right!"

"No. Beat it, beef slab," Riley snapped.

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me. I don't wanna be a Career. I don't wanna be your girlfriend for the Arena, either. You'd just kill me when you were through with me. Now go away, I've got some punches to deliver." The boy stood there, his jaw dropped for a few seconds until he regained an angry composure.

"Well, fine, if you don't wanna be on team badass! Looks like it just consists of me, then. I _was _going to suggest that maybe we kill the Careers together—you know, get rid of our deadliest competition—but I guess you'd rather alone, then, huh? Think about me and my offer tonight, and maybe I'll forgive you."

"And maybe I'll forgive you for being a conceited asshole who likes to bother people," Riley replied calmly. "I mean, sure, you're just compensating for something, but I've met much more noble pussies than you!" The boy from 1 then stormed off.

_Looks like I just pissed off two people today. Way to go, Riley. Oh, well. The more tolerable one will come crawling back._

For a moment, she briefly wondered whether the boy—what was his name, Rex?—had actually given her a good deal. He had mentioned something about "killing all the Careers". But 2 against 5? Forget it.

A few minutes later, a tall, black-haired girl with watchful, cloudy eyes appeared where Rex had just been.

"I told your District partner I ain't joining. And no, just because I turned Rex down doesn't mean I'll fall head over heels for you, either."

"That's not what I came to talk about," the girl replied. "My name is Dorea Calis. I'm sorry about Rex. He's a bit…well, he has numerous problems. He thinks I'm over here to try and convince you to join him. And as much as I distrust Tiberius, I know that he's not someone to mess with. You were smart not to get involved."

"Believe me, the offer wasn't exactly tantalizing when it came in the form of an spoiled steroid-junkie," Riley remarked. "So what did you want to come and talk about instead? Need a birth control pill? I don't have one. Try some Victor that won her Games by being a slut. They're probably around the Capitol somewhere." Riley grinned when she saw Dorea gasp in horror.

"How could you—what are you talking about?!" she whispered frantically.

"Gossip spreads fast," Riley explained. "My mentor picked it up from Gloss during the night of the chariots. He was a tad drunk, apparently."

"…That was so stupid of me. Don't tell anyone else, ok?" Dorea pleaded.

"It's fine, I won't judge!"

"Good. But what I actually came to say was thanks for teaching them a few things. Darius and Lidda."

"You sure you weren't dropped on the floor of your mansion back home when you were a baby?" Riley asked. "I thought you Careers weren't supposed to care about outliers."

"I…don't," Dorea said thoughtfully. "But I think they're knowledge is fascinating. Darius' prosthetics-making and Lidda's glass-making. Call it a bit silly, but I've always sort of wanted to know everything, or at least as much as I could, even if it was never useful to me."

"Your brain's not big enough for that, sweetie," Riley replied. "Especially since your fantasies with Gloss are probably taking up space." Dorea didn't seem to be amused, but she ignored her remark and went on.

"And what really pains me is the fact that two very smart, very fascinating, special people were reaped…nobody really gave a damn and volunteered for them. I…I know I would have." Riley, who had been sparring while she talked, motioned for her trainer to stop and turned to Dorea with a pitying smile.

"Yeah. Poor tykes. They have to die, don't they? But at least we'll both be alive, huh?" Riley answered. She was getting a bit determined to cheer Dorea up or make her leave, because she sure as hell didn't want to think about seeing those two die.

"But if the Games kills such great minds and leaves only one person alive—a broken, miserable shell of who they once were—than is it worth it if we win?"

"I don't know. Go wax philosophical on somebody else," Riley replied. "Maybe they can help you. By the way, why'd you even volunteer in the first place? I'm in it to win it, even though it's not by choice."

"So am I," Dorea replied grimly.

**Thaleia Starling**

"So, what brings you back here?" Clyde asked as they sparred, just as they had done the day before.

"I tried approaching Steele this morning," Thaleia explained, "But of course Amruen was with her. They were working on more survival stuff."

"No combat?" Clyde asked.

"No. I've haven't seen Amruen so much as touch a weapon since he's been in here, either today or yesterday. I think his plan had originally been just to stand around."

"Great, like we need more of those," Clyde groaned. "So far, there's Noiz, the girl from 7, the girl from 9, the girl from 10, the boy from 11…none of them hardly do anything. Teddy's the worst, though, he's done absolutely nothing. Our Games just might be pretty easy."

"Yeah. I'll probably be able to take out Amruen in the bloodbath," Thaleia said casually, although it was clear from the way she said it that she had her doubts. "But what then? Can I even take out Steele? I mean, if it makes Tiberius normal and happy, then I'm game. But can I do it?"

"Physically, or morally?" Clyde asked. "I think you can do both if you just…steel yourself enough. Get it?" he said with a faint smile. Thaleia grinned.

"Good one. But in all seriousness…why can't I just stay with Steele and Amruen?" she suggested. "If I don't kill her after a couple of days, maybe he'll just think I haven't found the time."

"Or better yet, don't obey Tiberius at all," Clyde declared. "Go solo and ditch that bastard. He's practically giving you a chance."

"True. But…I'm scared of what he might do to me if he found out. He and Rex might tear me apart! And then he'd probably find out you were in on it, too, and kill you when he's done with me!" Thaleia could feel herself taking on a paranoid tone, but when it came to Tiberius you could never be too careful, could you? What kind of person struck fear into his fellow Careers' hearts after knowing them for just a few days?

A dangerous one, that's who. Noiz's nickname for him was perfectly fitting.

Clyde stared at the ground for a moment, dropping his weapon. The trident made a clang when it hit the floor, but no one seemed to pay any attention.

"What's the matter?" Thaleia asked. Clyde awkwardly reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around it. Thaleia felt awkward, and wondered what he was going to say. Clyde had seemed uninterested in what he was doing before, so detached. Even when Tiberius had fussed at her yesterday at lunch for not joining up with Steele, he hadn't said a word. He hadn't even looked at them.

But as she looked into his eyes for a clue, all she saw was passion. Not romantic passion, but a sort of righteous anger. Why did he care so much about this?

"I don't want to see you afraid of him. Emotions like fear are complete crap. I think Dorea gets that, but you don't. That's how Tiberius is able to be so dangerous. He gets under your skin, makes you think he's going to kill you. He makes you feel afraid, Dorea feel docile, Steele hates him, and Rex feel powerless—and when you're a Career who thinks like him, that's an awful feeling to have, I'll bet. But you know what he makes me? Angry. I don't mean I'm turning into Steele—I don't want to kill him or anything, I don't have any personal grudge with him. But he looks like the abusive type—a conceited, prejudiced person who only sees people in terms of how powerful they are. Maybe he's not always that way, but to us that's all he's been."

"But why does that matter to you?" Thaleia asked. There was nothing she knew about Clyde that indicated that this sort of thing was a problem to him. Had he just gotten off the wrong side of the bed?

Clyde sighed deeply and closed his eyes, as if he were fighting some inner turmoil within himself, deciding whether or not to explain his sudden change.

"My mother was an abusive bitch," Clyde declared.

_Um…ok? What does that have to do with anything? Don't tell me your mom was Tiberius in drag! _Thaleia thought.

"But…why does that matter? She's far away now and can't hurt you."

"She never hurt me," Clyde explained. "But she was obsessed with making sure I was perfect. Making sure I thought and acted and fought the way I was supposed to. Her…standards were different than Tiberius, but just like him, she didn't tolerate people not being to her liking. So she took out her frustration on my father."

Thaleia blinked in surprise. Weren't men usually the aggressors in abusive relationships? Not that she knew from personal experience or anything.

"Thanks for not laughing," Clyde told her. "Her ideas had an effect on me. Basically, it's why I'm here today. To win, to prove to myself and to her that I'm up to her satisfaction, and to get away from her. Maybe then I can stop arguing with myself."

Thaleia found his words a bit confusing. Why did he want to satisfy his mother if he hated her? And she had never heard him arguing with himself. She realized there was another side to Clyde, a side that he hid from others, knowing that if they saw it they might be disgusted—like Tiberius and his mother.

Before she could think of some suitable response, the lunch bell rang.

"Why don't we talk about the Games instead? Maybe have some food? Don't let Tiberius get to you," she encouraged.

As they went to the cafeteria together, it suddenly occurred to her what she had just said. She had said that she would have preferred talking about the _Hunger Games _over his personal problems. The former was a nearly insurmountable obstacle at the latter could be cleared up with a few minutes of closure and maybe some hugs. And even worse, she didn't give any clear reaction when he held her hand. Now what would he think of her? Just as Tiberius had inexplicably reminded Clyde of his mother, so Thaleia was now reminded of her near-death experience from her past. But the past and present did actually have a correlation.

_Oh, Thaleia, why do you always have to make things harder for yourself?_

**Copper Nyrstar**

The Capitolites had noticed him, but only for a moment. He had shown them just a glimpse of who he truly was, for just a few seconds. And after that no one had noticed him at all. Good.

He was very grateful that the girl from 12 had upstaged him. Perhaps he could show his gratitude by smashing her skull in, right after he gave the boy from 6 a bit of a mental jolt by stabbing him in the head. Hopefully he could get poison all over his clever little cerebrum. And his own District partner would watch, of course, feeling such pain and regret over how she had been given the signs, but made no decision to react.

If she or Noiz or Dorea or anyone else really wanted to be smart, they'd kill him now, or perhaps in his sleep. But Copper rested easily, knowing that no one here would have it in them to do that. Even Careers played by the rules.

He was so blissful in his delirium that he didn't notice the girl from 6 sit across from him.

"Copper?" she asked, and he looked up. He saw only a feigned smile, a smile just like the ones he had to put on every day, to make sure that no one saw his true self until time was just right. He replied by whispering:

"I see you. I hear you. But I don't know if it is best to answer you." Could he trust her? Was this strange girl helpful in any way? Or did she know already? Copper was willing to reveal himself prematurely, but only to the right people.

"You can answer me," the girl reassured him. "My name is Elodie Kruger. And our burdens are very much the same. We are kindred spirits, unnoticed and disregarded by others. But it must be this way, so that when the time is right, we can rise from our graves…" she leaned in close, her teeth quickly vanishing and reappearing as her mouth moved in front of him.

"And feast on the misery of those who underestimated us. Woe to them."

"Woe to them!" he rasped, as if it was some sort of secret code that identified them as members of a sect, or binding them in some sort of pact. He did not bother to question how Elodie, a stranger, could know of his suffering. But perhaps great minds thought alike, and could look into each other's to see their similarities.

"But despite our circumstances, we are not quite the same," Elodie went on. "It is quite clear that your intentions in the arena involve brutal, relentless killing. But without restraint—without proper control—your dream may prematurely end. I wish to see your talents and potential expand during our time in the Arena. Ally yourself with me—no, _submit _to my governance—and I can guarantee that your victims will multiply in time."

Submission? Subservience? Was this young woman worth submitting to? Her offer was tempting; if her assumption proved correct than he could certainly kill plenty of unsuspecting tributes. But what if it was not? What if she merely wished to protect herself from the chaos of the Arena? What if she was restraining him out of the kindness of her heart, controlling him because she was a filthy do-gooder, a girl that wanted for his wrath to be held back?

There was a way to solve this, he knew.

"I need proof. Proof that I can trust you. Proof that we are alike," he said. "You say that your mind is like mine, but if that is truly so, then…what is the chemical formula for basic cyanide?"

"CN".

"The atomic weight of Mercury?"

"200.6, roughly."

"Close enough. And most importantly, what does a dead dog smell like? What does a cry of terror sound like? And how does it feel when your parents favor your sister over you?" Elodie paused, a confused and worried look on her face. Copper grinned, proudly displaying his teeth to her. Sure, a little bit more fluoride than the "recommended" level in toothpaste had been necessary, but it had been a great aesthetic accomplishment.

"A dead dog," Elodie began, "Smells like disappointment. Disappointment in its mortality, in its unwillingness to participate with its master, in the fact that its loyalty can be annulled by certain actions. A cry of terror sounds like obedience, of meekness. Of a reassurance that this person cannot harm you, for he or she is too afraid." Elodie's words were stilted, unconfident. But still, her answers were sufficient. He couldn't have said it better himself.

"And the last thing," Elodie said, her breathing heavily, "Feels seething, like a burn on your skin. A mild burn that starts as a simple irritation, a warm feeling that festers, strengthens, until it reveals its maliciousness. It hurts you, it forces you to jerk your hand away when you touch it, it makes you want to cry out in anger and pain for it to stop—but it is not a cry of terror. It is a demand, a demand for the burn—and the wretched people that caused it—to realize that the subject does not wish to participate with its cruel masters. And then, you feel that yourself are becoming the dog, and the urge to bite the hand that feeds you grows strong within you. You wish to defy them, even though it is not your sister's fault at all."

Copper nodded slowly, giving her a hug. "It seems we certainly do have a lot in common," he said. "Lead on, sister. I always wanted you to share in my passions. And now I've finally found you!"

**Elodie Kruger**

_That was certainly a foolish game, _Elodie thought, _but it had its results. Cooper, if only you knew that you sacrificed your discernment when you became insane. Whenever that was._

Finding out as much as she could about Copper prior to speaking with him wasn't too difficult. Last night she had tried asking Riley for information, but she had brusquely ignored her. The District 5 mentors knew little of Copper as well, it was clear, and neither did the stylist. He had been so careful to guard his mental instability, to make himself seem like a potential bloodbath person with no special skills whatsoever—the few times Elodie had seen him train were with a Warhammer, and even then when he was sure that no one, not even that little spy Noiz, were watching.

Speaking of her, she had been the most helpful. She too had apparently been curious about Copper, and the only thing Elodie had to do to get her to reveal her evaluation of him was to promise that a certain Thomas Kerr, the boy from District 8, would be included in her plans. Apparently she had some grudge on him or something. Elodie promised that she would have Copper dispose of him, but she had cleverly not given specifics as to when. From what Noiz had told her about Thomas, he too could also be quite useful.

According to her claims, Thomas' parents ran some sort of drug-smuggling ring, as well as a brothel. They even stockpiled weapons of various kinds, ready to fuel a rebellion if there ever was one. Now that she thought about it, her parents had probably mentioned the Kerr family once or twice, but she couldn't remember the context.

Noiz had also claimed that the head Peacekeeper in 8 was expertly killed by associates of the Kerrs, and that was the reason they had rigged Thomas' reaping. He was the only direct son of the organization's matriarch that was eligible for reaping, and apparently the higher-ups thought it would be a more suitable punishment to have him killed than his mother, in order not to risk rioting from either the family's clients or its employees. Not even highly paid criminals would risk going against the Capitol to win their leader's son back.

As for Copper, the subject of their shared scrutiny, Noiz had searched around hospital records in 5, to see if some doctor had been able to learn about Copper's secret side. She also tried the records from some Peacekeeper computers, to see if he had some kind of criminal record. There wasn't much, but what she could find was interesting; an account in which Copper had confessed to a psychiatrist that he had murdered a puppy, an incident in which one kid was "accidentally pushed down some stairs, and him spilling some kind of acid on another kid's arms. Copper had not been jailed indefinitely for murder because the acid in question had only caused mild itches. Still, it was noted by the psychiatrist that Copper had felt fascinated by what he had learned in these incidents, rather than feeling guilty for them.

In light of this information, Elodie had easily been able to figure out what Copper had been referring to with his first two questions, and her responses were guesses that she felt would appeal to him. The two chemical questions were trivial information she had remembered from her parents' tutelage.

The last one was of a personal nature. Although she had not been mentioned in anything Noiz had found, Copper, had had a sister whom he felt overshadowed by as well; that much was easily inferred by the nature of his question. Elodie knew that her situation with her own sister was probably very different, but all she had had to do was convince Copper that she shared his pain.

And although the thought of sharing anything with a demented savage like him was repulsive, she had meant every word in the answer of his last question.

With Copper at her side, Elodie knew that her attention now had to turn to Thomas. Noiz hadn't mentioned what sort of usefulness he had, but anything that could deter that little spy from possibly reporting her location to Careers was a great assistance.

"And who are you two?" said Thomas' District partner with a friendly smile.

"We'd love to be in your little alliance, if you don't mind," Copper replied, his tone completely different from the demented murmurings from before. "I'm Copper Nyrstar, and that's Elodie Kruger! We both know quite a bit about medicine and such, so we figured we'd both be pretty good first aid. I'm also pretty good with a Warhammer."

"Wow, two healers, AND one of them can use a heavy weapon!" the girl from 8 exclaimed. "Looks like there really is strength in numbers!"

_Certainly an unsuspecting one, aren't you? _Elodie thought as she munched on a baby carrot.

"I'm Denelle Ardley! I'm basically the unofficial leader here, but I'm fine with either of you taking over. None of us here know much about weapons, anyway, although we tried for a little bit. Pulse is pretty strong, though, so she's the best among us."

Elodie raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was going to be easier than she thought.

"That's me!" a tanned, freckled girl with strong arms and a boyish haircut exclaimed, giving a quick wave. "Not gonna lie, I have this thing for the dead. Yeah, I know, it's weird, but I promise I won't be creepy about it."

_Than perhaps you'll get along with Copper. If not we can easily get rid of you._

"I'm Mohan s-Sim!" piped up a small Indian boy. "I've r-read a lot—but that probably won't be much help. Still, I'm n-not hard to get along with, right guys?"

_You don't seem dangerous, but you might make a tempting meal for Copper._

"Of course not, who could hate you?" Denelle asked. "Especially with your story-telling ability! I would have loved to work at that orphanage, but the one we had in 8 was in a bad place."

"I'm Thomas," her target simply said. Elodie was about to engage in conversation when Copper spoke up.

"It's great that you're all friends, but we won't last long unless you all start training!" he said as if he were a teacher presiding over some students. "After lunch, I'll want to meet with you all one at a time, and we'll try and teach you a few things about first aid and medicine. Also with knives, they're not hard to use at all. Pulse, Denelle said you knew a few things about swords?"

"Well, if you consider 1 and a half days worth of training to mean that I know a few things, than yeah, I guess so," Pulse replied.

"Great!" Copper replied with a source of pep that he had apparently been saving for a rainy day. How was he able to feign this politeness? Elodie had learned a lot about being lady-like and pretending to be courteous, but she had also inherited her parents' tones. As a result, some people found her proper and polite, and others found her creepy. Not that she cared. "I want you to train Mohan. I'll train you, Denelle, and Elodie, I want you to work with Thomas! We can switch with whoever we want tomorrow when training is over."

"I don't know," Thomas piped up. "What if we don't have time to learn everything you guys think we need to know? And then if one of us who knows medicine but not fighting gets killed in the bloodbath, then we'll have less healers. But if we have little fighters and but a lot of healers, we can't defend ourselves. And how much can we learn in just a few days to save our own lives?"

"It's good that you're concerned, Thomas," Elodie replied. _And by showing your concern you've just singled yourself out as the only one in this ensemble that could realize what Copper and I plan. You want an ulterior motive? We'll give you one. _"But I promise I'll explain it all in training."

Elodie wasn't sure how Copper had known that she wanted Thomas, but she was certainly grateful.

**Thomas Kerr**

There was just something off about those two. That much he could tell.

Two tributes didn't just show up out of the blue like that unless they pitied their whole group, or they wanted to hijack it. The latter was far more likely. Had he been the only one that had noticed the way Copper and Elodie had been talking to each other, the way they had gotten their faces so close together like they were going to share some secret?

He had wanted to tell Denelle. He had wanted to say _something_ to maybe get her to reconsider. Maybe she had seen something, too, but she just lied to herself and said that people were inherently good, and then decided that the two strangers were just there to help. Or that they were genuinely evil, but were one over by her goodness. Who knew how her mind saw these things?

But Thomas could never see things that way. He was used to the world of shady dealings, the world were people said one thing and meant another, where it was generally understood that what you said didn't match what you did, or wanted to do. He knew people not as decent, moral people with flaws mixed in, but instead as morally corrupt and fickle people with a bit of goodness mixed in. And above all, they were base, wanting very specific things and doing whatever they could to pursue and indulge in those desires.

And yet that was what Thomas enjoyed the most about being the son of a crime lord—or was it crime lady? He saw the truth about people, not the lies and masks they put on for their own protection, or to deceive people. And here in the Capitol, everyone made a big show of being perfect and beautiful. But in the Districts, people defied the impossible and did whatever they wanted, with no moral compass dictating a right and a wrong. The Capitol people were like that, but naturally theirs had probably been rendered backwards, at least in his perspective. For example, in District 8, prostitution was done furtively in a house that was nominally an eatery, and it was a quick affair done only on rare occasions, lest a spouse find out. Here it was no secret that there were drugs and prostitution everywhere, and there was no way you could be like Denelle and live apart from it. Just the fact that the Districts and the Capitol treated their vices differently made Thomas see it as a sort of rebellion against the shamelessness of the Capitol.

But this was the sort of thing he never spoke out against. After all, there would always be crime; how you viewed it was a matter best left to yourself.

After lunch, Elodie escorted him to a corner in the gym. He could see Noiz out of the corner of his eye, only her eyes visible as she watched them, most likely straining her ears to listen. She had been lying in the camoflauge station for most of the training session, occasionally appearing and standing off at a distance, her small frame obscured by a dummy. What did she have against him, anyway? Why was she watching him, or anyone else, for that matter?

"I think you and I both know what this is about, Thomas," Elodie spoke, her words articulated perfectly despite her menacing tone. "Noiz dislikes you. She blames you as being partially responsible for her being reaped, since your family needed her to transfer money to one of their employees."

"So? What does that have to do with me? I don't handle that stuff, my mom does!" Thomas protested. "I can see you, by the way!" he called out to Noiz. She gave a wry grin and emerged, her body covered in blotches of paint meant to make her blend in with a forest.

"Ok, you caught me, Double F," she said, approaching him for a moment. "Listen, you might not think it's your fault, but here's the problem. You could've stopped it."

"It's done electronically! How can I stop a money transfer?" Thomas demanded.

"No, I mean…everything. You're your own boss. Everybody is. You could have turned your mom in, or at least convinced her to pay the guy later. But I checked out your files while I was helping Madame get the scoop on Crackles." Thomas looked at her inquisitively before she added, "Elodie and Copper, respectively. Because of you, my reaping was probably rigged! They see me as a connection to you, so they decided to get rid of both of us! Your family brought me down, Thomas."

"No, your own love of hacking did!" Thomas protested. "And why would I turn my own mother in? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I _loved _her too much to do that?"

"I loved my mom, too, but love didn't save her and dad when they died in a factory fire!" Noiz snapped. "If you want me to see your point of view, maybe you could at least check out mine." And with that, she quickly scurried away to go stare at someone else.

"Coward," Thomas muttered. "So, what's the real story about you and Copper joining us?"

"The real story," Elodie began, "Is this: Noiz despise you and wants to see as little of you as possible. And I don't want to see much of her, either. Who knows what someone with her skills could do? She could be a spy for the Careers or anyone else that wanted to take her in, alerting to them our position. Copper's tough, but he can't fight off a pack of Careers. And I'm not exactly the best with a weapon myself. I'd only be able to kill them long after they killed me."

"So that's all I am? An anti-Noiz deterrant? Then where do all the others fit in?" he asked.

"Copper is demented," Elodie replied. "He wants to kill as many tributes as he can, for some bizarre psychological reason I am unable to diagnose, although I do have a good idea of its origins, thanks to Noiz. He's been repressing his instinct for years of his life. The others in the alliance will be the perfect cannon fodder for him, not to mention the Capitolite audience. Sticking with us could win you sponsors, in case your family isn't able to pull through for you. Your persuasion skills and reasoning, combined with your trustworthiness, should allow you to keep them to stay with us for as long as we need them to, should they suddenly gain suspicions."

"You think I'm just going to let you kill all my allies? They may not quite realize the gravity of the situation they're in, but they're nice people. I want to help them as much as I can, and if I'm lucky than one of them can get out of this living hell. I'd rather it be them than you."

"So you don't care about yourself at all, then?" Elodie challenged. "What would your mother say?"

Spoken to nearly anyone else, that question would have practically been a joke. But Thomas froze, realizing that what his mother would say was something most wouldn't.

_Go along with her little plan. Sometimes you have to let yourself be an employee, working for a boss. You can work your way up, if you're smart. Let them get rid of your competitors, fire some people. And then, when you've got all the money you need, resign. If you do it when you're at you're most powerful, there's nothing they can do to stop you._

_It's the only way to survive in this dog-eat-dog world, sweetie._

"It's what she would want you to do, I'll bet," Elodie urged. "And your mother was no doubt much wiser than mine."

"I know it's what she'd want. So I'll do it. On one condition."

"What?"

"Teach me about poison."

"How do you know that I know about that? All I said was that I knew medicine. _Healing _medicine."

"I've dealt with people using euphemisms before. Teach me as much as you can. If I'm going to work for you, than it's going to be an equal partnership. Otherwise, I'll snitch to the others. I'd never turn my mom in, but I'd definitely make sure they knew about _you. _And then your little pet would starve." Elodie sighed audibly. Thomas wanted to smile, to at least look like the innocent kid he was supposed to be, but he couldn't.

"Very well, then. Let's start with the plant identification station. I assume you know about nightlock, but there are plenty of others. Neurotoxins, hallucinogenics. Even the drugs your parents peddle around are technically poisons. And whatever we can't get from the Arena can come from sponsors. Which you're in no short supply of, I know."

**Julia Kellson**

Being alone was a new feeling for her. Just a few days ago, she had a large family to take care of that did what they could to express their gratitude for her help by loving her. She recalled in the past how she had sometimes thought that their thanks was next to worthless, since it didn't create extra money or put food on the table. Now that she had lost it, it seemed like the most valuable thing in the world.

And here in the Capitol she had been starved of all positive emotions while the others—Denelle and her ilk—were happy and having a good time.

She had wanted to join them, but they were complete strangers to her. What if she pushed them away by accident, just like she had with so many others? Like Matthew? She had heard that Pulse and Denelle were both very friendly, emotionally hardy girls, but she had wanted to try Matthew first.

The day before they had met at a station and she had asked him if he was willing to ally with her. He had said no, predictably. The exact words lingered in her head:

_You're a mighty sweet girl, Julia. Real smart, too. But that doesn't mean I can just let you tag along with me. Ya might slow me down, or worse. Heck, you might not even need me._

Matthew hadn't specified what "worse" meant, but Julia could tell that he probably assumed she would betray him. That thought had never crossed her mind; how would she even attempt something like that, anyway?

She had then considered joining the growing alliance led by Denelle, but then Copper and Elodie stepped in, making her feel uneasy about it. She hadn't heard most of what had been said to get them to join, but she had heard someone say "2 healers" and saw Elodie talking to Thomas privately. Something about that made her feel that it was too late to join them, as much as she wanted to. Maybe if Elodie and Copper decided to split off before the Games started, she'd feel safe, but that didn't seem likely.

So Julia kept on trying to see if she could hone as many skills as possible, trying to accept that her last chance at finding someone to work with had been dashed. She knew there was the girl from 2 that seemed to be hated by her District partner and that boy from 9, but they were huge and she was small. They probably knew tons more about fighting than she could ever figure out in 1 day—for that was all that was left; this half and half of next day—and if they did then she'd just slow them down. Maybe they'd even use her as bait or a human shield. There was also the girl from 12 and the boy from 6, but the girl—Lidda—clearly had a harsh temper. If most people were offended by what Julia said accidentally, who knew how badly Lidda would snap?

As much as Julia wanted allies, she wanted ones that she could fit in with, that she could both help and be helped by. As someone who had toiled in the various ranches of 10, working hard to earn her pay without anyone constantly assisting her, the thought of just being a useless tag-along to a much tougher person was abhorrent, and so was the idea of being surrounded by allies who didn't have much to offer. Matthew had still been her first choice, however, because when it came down to it he was still not as strong as a Career, so her fighting alongside him should have been much appreciated.

But Matthew, she had learned in the past few days, was not one to trust people easily. He was open to making friends, but he seemed to be perpetually suspicious of them unless he had known them for at least a year or so.

Who was at fault here? Julia wondered. Was she too rude and blunt for him to tolerate her any more than necessary, or was he too suspicious and mistrustful?

"What brings you over here?" the girl from 9 asked, interrupting her thoughts. Julia returned to reality to find that one of the few tributes still not in an alliance was beside her, trying to tie a knot of some sort. Watching her attempt it gave Julia an idea that she stored in the back of her mind.

"I don't have any allies. All the possible alliances just don't seem…right. I would be too much of a problem for them, or we'd all just get ourselves killed. I'm beginning to think that I'm overthinking this."

"Maybe you are," she replied. "But it shows that you're not naïve or delusional like so many other people here. Alliances are tempting, but only one person wins, you know. I didn't even need Ernest to tell me that."

"Your mentor? What did he say?" Julia asked.

"He was in that Quarter Quell," the girl explained. "You know, the one where they had them all use guns and bombs and stuff instead of the usual weapons? There were hardly any alliances in that. An alliance doesn't necessarily guarantee your safety. Make the Games less complicated for yourself by going it alone. So-called 'allies' will only betray you in the end. They have to, it's what people do. They get tired of you, and then they'll just leave you. Save yourself the heartbreak of feeling sad for killing them by never making friends with them at all."

"I wish it were that easy," Julia replied. "But that's how I've been all my life. I don't have many friends. Most people can't get comfortable with the fact that sometimes I let loose with words I don't mean." Noelle chuckled.

"Then they're just being assholes. Don't lean too much on other people, Julia. Words to live by." And before Julia could say more she walked away, having hardly worked on the ropes at all.

Julia found this girl—she didn't even give her name, she realized—and her advice to be discomforting, but undeniably true. Maybe an alliance secured nothing except your own demise.

Still, she didn't want to take it out of consideration just yet. But for now, she was comfortable with being on her own, if necessary.

**Matthew Jorkis**

_There you go again, _he thought. _Rejectin' people because of your trust problem. What if that had been Eve, and she had been in the Hunger Games with you? Would ya have turned her down then?_

No, that was different. Julia was some girl from his District he didn't know very well. Eve was his fiancé. She had earned her trust, and Julia had not. Helping him with a job at a farm that wasn't even his wasn't enough. How could he trust someone with a tongue as untamable as hers, anyway? A nice person, she certainly was; a trustworthy one, perhaps not.

But where did that idea come from? Common sense or his own problems? Matthew wasn't sure. All he knew was that people were irreplaceable, and if Julia was trying to replace the role of his friend—or even his fiancé—she'd have to go through hell to prove herself. And right now Matthew wasn't in the mood for replacements.

_She ain't tryin' to replace anybody. She just wants a friend. She's not demented when it comes to loyalty, unlike you._

"Having problems with Oopsie over there?" the girl from 9 remarked. "She's naïve. She doesn't realize that an alliance will kill her."

"Yeah, but she's from the same place I am," Matthew replied. "I feel like we gotta stick together anyway, even though I really don't want to. Who knows what she'd try?"

"I don't know. But the fact that you're cautious also shows you're smart. Alliances are tempting, but only one person wins, you know. I didn't need Ernest to tell me that."

"Wasn't he in that Quarter Quell with the guns and stuff?" Matthew asked. The girl from 9 nodded.

"Yeah. He was smart to have no attachments, especially in the Arena. And I can certainly relate. What's the point of trusting people when they could bring you down?"

"Yeah. I thought I was the only one that thought that," Matthew remarked. "You too?" The girl from 9's eyes darted to the floor.

"Yeah, I know from personal experience. Ivan was a great guy. We were inseparable. But then, one day, he just left me. We had been together for years, practically. And then it all fell apart, by his own choice."

Matthew was stunned. What if Eve did that to him? What if he had never been reaped, and just weeks before their wedding, she announced that she no longer loved him? There would go one more person that he thought he could trust. He suddenly grew afraid, afraid that what had happened to Noelle was somehow destined to happen to him, if he had never been reaped or actually survived the Hunger Games.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, wanting to reach out and give her a hug. Oddly enough, it was she who initiated it, giving a long sigh with her head hanging over his shoulder.

"Tell ya what," he said, pulling her back, "Maybe we can rebuild ourselves."

"How? What do you mean?" the girl from 9 asked in a timid tone.

"If we just stick together…we can get rid of the trust problems we both seem to have," Matthew suggested. It was a bold, possibly dangerous idea, but what did he have to lose? She and he would both likely die at some point anyway.

"I like that idea," the girl replied softly. Just then, a bell rang, signifying that training was over for the day.

Perhaps, Matthew thought, he had finally found someone he could trust. Surely someone who had suffered through so much would be fearful of it happening again, and immensely loyal as a result?

**Noelle Valade**

She had just increased her chances of survival by a small percentage. Now there were only 21 others to worry about.

It had been remarkably easy, Noelle thought as she took the elevator to her District, to play off the hillbillies from 10 and their respective social problems—probably self-inflicted or something. The truth was that she didn't care one iota about either of them, but she knew that they would both probably be determined enough to go to the Cornucopia and get some things for her. The boy would probably get a weapon, and the girl would get some survival stuff. Why work hard and train when you had people that you could make your servants?

Julia would lead herself to believe that since she had given her such a valuable piece of advice, she would be the perfect ally, if only in a loose sense. She would think she had found a like mind, and then when she decided that maybe trust was a good idea after all, Noelle would kill her.

As for Matthew, he would be killed immediately. She would be sure to meet up with him first—especially since their alliance was more formal while Julia and she merely had a sort of understanding that they wouldn't kill each other—and kill him when his back was turned, probably using whatever weapons he had grabbed. She knew to make sure he was unarmed of course. Julia she might have to stick with a little longer, but in an Arena full of mutts and Careers, there were probably a million ways to off her indirectly.

The only two other occupants of the elevator were Elodie and Noiz, but of course that just brewed trouble.

"Nice going, you two!" Noiz congratulated. Neither she nor Elodie said nothing. "Let's hope they don't find out."

"Keep your mouth shut!" she and Elodie both said at the same time. At that moment the two clever girls locked eyes, realizing that they hadn't been the only ones with plans. Noiz just snickered a bit before getting off at her floor.

She arrived at her floor to find her escort watching TV and Amruen talking to Ernest. Noelle decided she would only talk about what she did if Ernest asked; better to be honest than to be vague.

"Hey guys, is dinner ready?" she asked as if they were her brothers rather than people she had been forced into associating with.

"Yes," Ernest replied in that paradoxically somber yet hopeful voice. Noelle found it annoying, but her irritation usually turned into guilt when she remembered why he was like that. "I made sure to ask the escort to get steak, some milk—he says the Capitolites recognized him as an escort and refused to sell him anything alcoholic—and various fruits and vegetables, and if you're hungry for more there's a cake I ordered." At this Amruen's eyes lit up, and he stood to his feet.

"Thank you so much," he muttered, and went off to eat. Noelle's expression remained unchanged, but she was a little amused. Of course a malnourished District boy with no family would consider food to be one of the greatest gifts to be received. Hopefully Amruen would finish quickly so she could talk to him alone.

**Ernest Howitzer**

Amruen wolfs his food down like he did with all the other meals I was present. I worry about him a little bit, every morning and evening when I have a meal with him he's always cleaning his plate and helping himself to seconds. He doesn't know how much to eat, I fear, because for so long as he's had so little. Not even my family was that hungry; we always had just enough to eat so that we could make it through the day without feeling hungry. He's thin, so his stomach has more room to expand, but I'm worried that his body will get used to so much food that when the Hunger Games comes he'll get weaker from the lack of abundant food sources. Of course, what do I know, I've never watched a Games, and my own was too quick for me to worry about food much. My life was on the line.

He finishes his piece of cake before I can even finish what was on my plate to begin with, and then he's off, probably to go watch a Games from the past to study it like he did last night. I don't watch with him; even though they're not using guns in still brings back memories I wanted to let go.

Like Solace. She was so helpful to me, the only one I could trust for such a long time, and how I have I honored her memory? I've been almost worthless to these two, just holding the fort—staying here, I correct myself—while they train. Every time I try to tell them something important I just feel so stupid. I need to get over this, but promising myself I can and then actually doing it are two completely different things.

I glance over at Noelle as she eats at the same pace I am, not saying a word. Have I been leaving her out? I wonder. Amruen's been very sympathetic of my past, but she hasn't said much on the subject. She probably sees me the way most tributes would. I feel that the least I can do is reach out to her, try and bond with her somehow.

"How was your training?" I ask, feeling so strange for even asking this. District 9 doesn't have many victors, and currently I'm the only one alive, so there's no one to tell me if I'm doing something wrong.

A smile emerges on Noelle's face, a proud one, just like the one I always imagined Solace would have if she were a human. It occurs to me that I have said nothing on Solace. But wait…Amruen and Noelle went back to watch the reapings recaps…did they watch my Games? It would be utterly humiliating if they knew about her. What kind of a mentor has a gun for a best friend?

What Noelle says doesn't have anything to do with her, thankfully. "You know how you said no attachments? I took your advice and ran with it."

"How did you do that?" I ask. I regret it immediately when she proceeds to explain how she played off of the issues the two tributes from 10 have. For a moment, I don't know how to respond. I'm torn because it's something I might have thought about doing if my Games had been normal, but the very idea just sounds so unethical, if not downright cold-blooded.

"I…it seems like a good strategy," I say, swallowing nervously. I feel like I'm going to throw up, the thought of her killing two people that are probably very nice, just like that. Is it somehow partially my fault? Or did I just happen to get stuck with some sort of monster?

"You want to approve of it, don't you?" she asks me. "You think it will help me survive. You don't have to, though. What's your honest opinion?"

"It's awful," I begin shakily, "And it's a horrible idea. But I can't stop you from doing it. And it might help you survive, after all. You can teach them the lesson they weren't completely able to learn…" I feel awful for saying that. I feel like I've just condemned both the District 10 tributes to death, even though I'm not the one planning on killing them. "Why did you want to tell me this?"

"I wanted to show you that even though Amruen is probably your favorite among the two of us, it should be me," Noelle explained. "Amruen's pretty sympathetic to people like you. I can't be that way, for a number of reasons that are too complicated to go into right now. But let's face it: he's too rebellious. The Capitol would never let him win, at least not with the mindset he has now. I don't know what you plan on doing with sponsor money, but you should be spending it on me only. That way, you can at least _try _and send a Victor home. Amruen wants you to live in the past, to never forget what the Capitol made you do. I'm giving you the chance to catch up the rest of us in the present. All you have to do is pay no attention to him. Don't associate with him anymore, and when the interviews come, make sure you emphasize how much you despise having had to work with him as a mentor. Make sure you let everyone know that you prefer me. You will benefit from this as much as I will."

"But do you have to kill these two tributes?!" I demand. "Just promise to leave them alone, and I'll help you."

"Very well, then," Noelle replies almost immediately as I finish speaking. "Good to see that you'll do what it takes to bring home a true Victor. The District will be so proud of you." She's about to go to her room, but I say one last remark to her:

"But, one more thing, Noelle. I don't have a favorite. Amruen wasn't what I wanted in a tribute, either. Honestly, I would have preferred to have someone…that would have been able to look up to me. But neither of you really needed me. Can't I just like you both?"

Noelle suddenly stops walking. She turns around and looks at me, her eyes blazing with malice, and it looks like they're watering a little.

"Typical thing to say," she says, almost spitting at me. "I should have known you'd be just like Ivan!"

"Who's Ivan? What does he have to do with me?" I ask in confusion. She never mentioned this boy on the train. Was she embarrassed to talk about him like I was with Solace?

"He said he loved me," she began, breathing heavily. "He said he'd never leave me. But then…he fell in with the wrong crowd. And just like that, all those years we had together were gone. He lied to me, Ernest, just like you did just now." She takes a deep breath to try and calm herself, then continues. "I was hoping that maybe you'd help me. But if you won't, then I'll just stop caring. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. And believe me, I can do that. I've done it before."

I feel myself getting angry. This isn't fair! All the other mentors get nice tributes, but instead I have one that hates me for practically nothing!

"I'm not your boyfriend, Noelle, I'm your mentor!" I cry. "If anyone's living in the past, it's you, because all you see are a bunch of people that are looking to betray you! I'm not Ivan! I want to help you. I'm just not very good at figuring out how."

"If you want to help, then stop pretending you're in a war zone and come to your senses. The Capitol isn't important right now. What's important is getting _me _through their insane Games, so that I can get back to my life."

I sigh. I'm just too tired to ponder all this right now. Maybe if I just lie and go along with her plan, then I'll be safe. For just a moment, at least.

"Ok. Do whatever you want in the Games. Just don't get me involved in your plans. Please…I've been through too much in my life."

"So have I, Ernest," she says as she leaves, "So have I."

**AN: What a long chapter! At around 10,000 words, it's my longest yet!**

**I tried to focus on some of the characters you said you didn't like or said was least developed. Dade and some of the others I have planned will have to wait for the next chapter, though.**

**I'm still not sure whether to put the private training in the POV of the Gamemakers (i.e. Seneca) or the individual tributes. Which do you prefer?**

**Trivia question: What is Ranaron's mother's name?**

**Sephenocephala**

**Frogette**

**Litoria**

**Croakarina**


	24. Pvt training: Seneca is often one of us

Training day 3/private training: Final preparations and careful observations

Morning

**Noiz Huxley**

Analysis complete. Almost.

All those days of watching people, peeking out at them from behind or hiding in inconspicuous locations had certainly been difficult, almost as much as it had been to try and train a bit herself. How was she supposed to run laps and jump over hurdles when there was a very important conversation she had to listen in on?

Nevertheless, she felt proud of herself and of her work. Sure, a lot of tributes already knew she had been spying on them, but the Arena would be much bigger than this gym, and most of the people here hadn't trained themselves to detect her. It wasn't like there was a Noiz detection station around here. While most people could find her easily now if they just took the time to look, in the Arena she could make herself much more inconspicuous.

She had also decided that certain individuals would make great clients she could spy for her. Noiz was open to the idea so long as she was paid in the form of non-essential supplies and an extended life.

Her brain had practically made an encyclopedia on these people. Hotshot was dangerous if alone, but with Scanner and the other Careers around he was harmless. They'd all seen the value in her and wouldn't kill her just because she wasn't one of them.

Scanner herself was another observant one, so Noiz figured she would have to avoid making a lot about herself known to her. Not in terms of personal history—chances were she and Double F (Thomas) would never meet-but in terms of how she hid herself, and most importantly any weaknesses that Scanner could find out about. Like her inability to find like a real tribute would.

The name she had bestowed Danger Zone with fit him perfectly. It had been so much fun to tease him a few days ago, but Noiz was beginning to think that maybe that had not been such a good idea. He had known it was her and had declared that he would kill her on sight, after all. But she could work around that, right?

Scarface had a lot of potential for her, particularly if Bubbles decided on obeying Danger Zone and being a fake ally. Noiz decided that if she ever needed help taking out the Careers, she'd just tell Scarface about the situation she had uncovered.

Book guru was sadly, not worth worrying about.

Sadfish was stoic, and seemed to have this liking to Bubbles. In all her observations Noiz wasn't quite sure how they saw each other, but she kept a mental note that if Bubbles was offed, Sadfish's reaction was completely unpredictable. Unless if Noiz perhaps spread a fishy tale about her…

As for Bubbles herself, Noiz knew that even someone like her could beat her one-on-one. Bubbles seemed nice enough for now, but Noiz was smart enough to know that she could be provoked into going beserk.

Snarkfist was also worth considering, if Noiz couldn't make any of the Careers work for her. She was tough, but not a Career, and she wasn't completely aloof like Farmhand, either, so if Noiz suddenly found herself in need of an ally, tis would be her first choice. The problem was there was no information she knew of that she could use to get at her or make her ally with her. Sure, she packed a punch and was snarky, but what kept her like that? Whatever it was, Noiz figured it was something she wouldn't be able to figure out.

Crackles and Madame were glued to each other, and although Noiz knew that Crackles wouldn't listen to reason, his master certainly would. Noiz reminded herself that if she was ever attacked by them and somehow survived, she would blow their cover to as many tributes still alive by that point as she could. Unless, of course, they somehow ended up being the last 3 tributes.

George was curious, and he was smart, but Noiz doubted that she'd ever need him unless her limbs were all somehow hacked off. He could shoot a bow…sort of, but Noiz doubted that he'd outlast her, so long as she played her cards right.

Griefer was a risky variable. Noiz wasn't sure if she'd lose it in the bloodbath or…well, lose it in a different sense of the word. Either way, she was big and tough-looking. No sense bothering with her.

Double F…what was there to say? Perhaps he had been right. Maybe she was being a bit unjust. Noiz decided that she'd take him over the "medics" anyday, so perhaps she'd get back to him. Only time would tell.

Smiley didn't have much to offer, but maybe she'd come to her senses. Someone with as much kindheartedness as her could probably turn it around into anger if she wished. There was no counting people out for her until they died. Not even Book Guru.

Nyet and Loosey didn't seem to be around, which was strange, but it probably had something to do with Nyet's defiance of the Capitol. Maybe they'd punish him? Either way, he wouldn't be as receptive to allying with her as maybe Scarface would. Loosey was dangerous, too; she'd probably kill her if she tried to snitch to the victims from 10. But Noiz figured that she could check her power by hovering the threat over her face, rather than actually saying anything. She wanted people to drop like flies, too, even though most of the tributes were too nice for that, in her opinion.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Loosey's plan would backfire and both Farmhand and Oopsie would survive. Perhaps they would even work together. If so than they probably wouldn't be in the mood for shady dealings. They weren't hostiles at the moment, but they certainly had the potential of becoming so.

Hat and Spot—Noiz felt a little ashamed of herself for not thinking of better nicknames—maybe Cynic and Gravedigger?—weren't worth considering too heavily. But there was always the chance that Cynic—she had decided that that would be Teddy's new nickname now—had some sort of untapped reserve of power he kept for emergencies, and Gravedigger had visible muscles on her arms, probably from heaving dirt with a shovel or something. Again, worth steering clear of.

Unprepared was laughable, but now she wasn't quite living up to her name. Noiz would have to be careful about seeing any glass around, as it would be a good indication of her presence. But hopefully she'd be nullified if she could negotiate with Snarkfist.

And finally, the Seam-snatcher. She could sneak around, but so could he. She was observant, he was frank. She spied and hacked, he stole and could slit throats without them even knowing it. Noiz knew that this boy was her match, her main competition in the Arena. But if he didn't see it that way, then perhaps she could keep herself at a good distance from him.

_Quite the Game we will have here, _Noiz thought as she tried to look at the whole group from a distance. But if she could have traded her analytical skills for complete and accurate knowledge of possible future outcomes, she would.

**Clyde Morissey**

_In just moments, they'll all be watching. Waiting to see what you can do._

_I already know this._

_Yes, but you don't really get it yet. Keep repeating it to yourself._

_I have been._

_But it's not working, is it? You know that they'll see every last bit of you. All of your minor little flaws, those things you kept trying to cover up._

_There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine. I'm a good Career. I can fight, I can kill. Just wait._

_You certainly can. Why don't you start with Thaleia? She's the perfect victim. You know what to do._

_Don't say things like that._

_But it's true. You know it is. Or would you rather let yourself be killed by a girl that's weaker than you?_

_She's not weaker than me, she just has a different learning curve._

_We'll find out who's better soon, won't we? Just relax…and try to pretend like no one is watching you now. Because they certainly aren't._

He spun around from sparring on a dummy using a double-edged spear to find the girl from 3 looking at him, in plain sight. He felt it a bit ironic that he was afraid of her, thinking that instead he should be thanking her for having ticked off Tiberius the other day.

"Do you mind?" he rasped. "I'm trying to focus." She backed away a bit, and Clyde suddenly remembered that her name was Noiz. It had been the name Tiberius had referred to when he had demanded that they would kill a certain tribute on sight. But given the fact that she was so close to him, she seemed to know already that he didn't plan on doing that. At least, it wouldn't be his first objective in the Arena.

"I just came to say not to worry about Bubbles, Sadfish. Scarface will take the bait. She's a bit gullible like that," Noiz told him. Clyde was confused. She was obviously referring to the tributes. Then he understood: he was "Sadfish", Thaliea was "Bubbles", and Scarface was obviously Steele.

"Why am I Sadfish?" he asked.

"You never smile," Noiz replied simply.

"I do too! Sometimes. You just never see it," he protested, thinking how silly it was that he was arguing about this with a much-smaller girl that would probably get wiped out in the bloodbath, anyway. He thought back to the last time he had smiled. It was when he had first met Thaleia, the girl who had considered killing first not long ago.

_What a monster you are. Someone wants to be your friend—a friendly, emotionally-sensitive GIRL, no less—and you plot her death._

_I have to, it's the Hunger Games._

_Really, huh? Can you say that out loud? I don't think Noiz heard. But she probably knows already. You're mental state gives you away._

_I don't have a "mental state"._

_Really? Then who are you talking to right now?_

"Why haven't you been training?" Clyde asked Noiz, ignoring his thoughts. "Do you want to just learn everything you can about everybody so that you can get killed and forget it all in death?"

"Oh, I've been training," Noiz replied. "Just not the way you would. I can't fight like you, after all. I prefer being stealthy. You know, killing people when they think they're alone. Learning all those little things they thought no one would ever know. Reaching into the deepest recesses of their minds…"

_And then finding out that they're dealing with a flawed, shallow person with a brain on the verge of exploding from the pressure he's been placing on it._

Clyde's heart beat rapidly, and he stood frozen as Noiz went away to go bother someone else.

_No. I am not letting this weaker people get to me. I can take kill them, I'm stronger than them. I can get out of here alive and win this thing._

_I hope you can, too. Good luck._

**Steeleia Sharpe**

_Where is my ally?_ She thought. _He and that other girl from his District haven't shown up yet. Don't they realize this is their last moment of training?_

Amruen was planning something, she knew. Given what she knew about him, it was probably something meant to shock the Gamemakers during the private training sessions. But did it have to take so long to set up?

She hadn't made this clear to him yet, but her "rebellious" nature was more of a rejection of Career norms, at least established by Tiberius. Amruen's rebellion, she could tell, was more genuine, and he hated the Capitol. Personally, Steele was ambivalent about them. Having been forced to train in the Games they imposed, she was of the mindset that they were inevitable. What she wanted to stress while she was in the Arena was that you didn't have to be bloodthirsty if happened to be a Career. There weren't many of those that had won, as far as she knew, that had been like that. But even more than she wanted to prove it to herself and others, she wanted to prove it to Tiberius. She never liked admitting it, but his feelings of rivalry were usually reciprocated. What choice did she have but to prove her antithesis wrong?

She hoped that maybe Amruen could break her out of that, though. Maybe he had been right when he said it was the Capitol's fault for making them feel that way. But if that was true, then that made her just like all the other Careers, and a source of adoration for the Capitolites. And if Amruen realized that, then maybe he wouldn't want her anymore.

_Wouldn't want TO BE MY ALLY anymore, _she corrected herself.

She didn't know much about the other Careers, but from what she had seen of them they were milder than Tiberius. Even Rex hadn't bothered her, although Steele remembered that little scene he had with the girl from 5.

In fact, she was beginning to think that Tiberius was growing angry about the fact that the only cold-blooded killer he had was a bit dense. It would explain all of his grunts whenever he slashed at a dummy with a claymore, or how he always seemed so irritated, even without even looking at her. She couldn't remember the last time she saw a blank, non-scowling expression on his face. Maybe he was trying to suppress his anger towards everyone, probably because nobody was up to his standards.

_Or maybe they're all just better than you_. _Ever think of that, you arrogant monster?_

Still, none of the Careers seemed like potential allies for her. Maybe they'd even want to kill her more than Tiberius just so that they'd have an effective leader.

But shortly after thinking this she found that the girl from 4 was approaching her again. She had been planning to do so for a while now, Steele suspected, but maybe she was afraid of Amruen. Now that he wasn't here, Steele was helpless.

"Hey," the girl from 4 said first. "I'm Thaleia Starling."

"So you want to know how similar my name is to yours?" Steele asked, trying to adopt the snarky tone that she had seen the girl from 5 put on. It had worked for her, why not for Steele? "Tell Tiberius that I'm not an idiot."

"About that…" Thaleia began, her voice trailing, "I wanted to tell you earlier, but that boy was there. I…I'm not a fan of him. Or the other Careers, for that matter. They're too…bloodthirsty, too violent. I used to think that was normal for us, but after seeing all the other tributes here acting much less savage, now I'm not so sure."

"Really?" Steele asked hopefully. Was she hallucinating? Was she really not alone? Did this girl understand the truth like she did? Meeting up with Amruen had been great, but he was no Career. If her ears and brain were functioning correctly, then this girl was definitely an ally, a like-minded person that she could trust because she understood things exactly the way she did. Was she being too optimistic here?

"Yes," Thaleia went on. "I'm a little afraid of Tiberius, and I was wondering…maybe, I could be your ally instead. I'd just pretend with him. I don't think I'm into the sort of relentless killing thing that he is."

"How will you sneak off?" Steele asked. "He thinks you're on his side, right?"

"Yes. But don't worry, I'll find a way," Thaleia reassured her. Steele began to feel excited. Now she had two allies to her cause! Tiberius was helpless, especially with a double agent on her side! Things were certainly looking up for her. Previously, she had thought that all of the Careers would be against her, but perhaps there was hope for their humanity after all.

But where was Amruen? He'd be so happy to hear this, she knew.

**Dade Novak**

No one seemed to mind that he was staring at the ground and calling out to a green thing on the floor.

"Ok, Sssam! Look! Somebody's coming!" he cried when a trainer strolled past them, staring at the snake oddly but assuming that Dade was suffering from some form of dementia. "What do you do?" Dade expectantly asked him. Sssam slithered away from him, flickering his tongue to see if there was any food nearby besides what Dade was offering. Smelling that there was none, he turned around and made a circle, his head brushing past the scales of his tail.

"Good job! Here's your reward! Keep it up!" Dade cried, grimacing as he withdrew a small chunk of flesh that had previously belonged to a mouse. The poor creature had been caught in a trap on his District's floor, and he had had to ask his District partner, that somber and muscular girl, to do it for him. She had complied, not seeing the significance of it, and washed her hands immediately afterward.

The very idea of killing an adorable and generally harmless creature such as a mouse nauseated and angered Dade, but it was a sacrifice he would have to make in order to feed Sssam—and more importantly, to keep him motivated to work as a partner. There was a reason Dade had picked him as his token and ally; none of his other pets had the courage or ferocity needed for the Games. Sure, Sssam wasn't all that aggressive, but sometimes if you petted him the wrong way he would give a small nip. And he had no problem slithering around people as if they were just fleshy towers instead of living things. He'd be a great distraction while Dade knifed them.

He had already thrown Ssam at his escort once in a fit of anger, and the snake had handled it remarkably well, although Dade was sometimes worried that he was getting slower. That was probably from the lack of food, Dade hated to admit; he'd been holding Sssam back for a bit to get him motivated, to make him realize that he would eat only if he cooperated. Dade felt immensely guilty for putting his pet through such strenuous activity, but he had done his won share as well. He had taught himself how to climb rock walls by testing himself on the benign plastic one in the training center, to climb trees (again on fake ones from the training center), how to hide in foliage (camouflaging himself by painting himself certain colors was too much of a hassle) and how to jab a knife quickly in and out of a human body. Throat-slitting was best, and so where stabs in the heart. It wasn't good to aim for the ribs, though, since the blade could get stuck in those too easily.

As Ssam was in the process of swallowing his meal, Dade looked around at the others with disdain as they tried their best to over-complicate things. What was the point of alliances when you'd have to kill them anyway? Even the Careers were complete idiots like that. Couldn't they fight well enough by themselves? It made everybody else have to work twice as hard. And why did they all feel like they had to have different weapons? What was the point of sword fights or bow shoots if all you really had to do was stick a knife in somebody? It wasn't like the Careers wore armor all the time or something.

Here all these idiots were, unprepared for the challenge ahead of them that they had to break their backs in training, and all he need was a knife, some food, and Ssam. Everything else he needed wouldn't be too hard to find. And it wasn't like there was anything worth reading in the Arena, anyway.

"Heh, heh. Keep it up, Sssam," Dade encouraged. "Soon all these idiots will go away and stop bothering us."

Sssam crawled into his hands in response, worn out from training.

**Amruen Neversky**

He woke up a bit late, remembering what today was. Amruen would never have thought that this would be a day that was so important for him, in part because he never suspected that he himself would be in the Hunger Games. Sure, he was a nuisance to the Peacekeepers of his District, but was that enough to get him reaped?

But now that it had happened, he reasoned, he needed to do something to show those heartless tyrants that the District people outnumbered them and could easily overpower them if they gathered together and coordinate their attacks. And Amruen knew exactly what to do to open their eyes. And Ernest would be a part of it.

He'd want to go along with the plan, Amruen reasoned. Anything to show the Capitol that they had created a firearms-proficient mentor that could pass his teachings along to other able-bodied tributes in his District. Anything to show the Capitol that they had better be careful how they arrange their Quarter Quells.

"Ernest?" Amruen knocked on the door of his room. There was no answer, and he found him sitting up in his bed, his eyes bloodshot.

"What is it?" he asked, apparently unaware of his physical state "Be sure to go down for one last bit of training. Then it's private training time. You knew that, right?"

"Yes," Amruen replied, unsure of this was a good time to ask. But then again, there wasn't much time, period. "I need to ask you something…"

"What?"

Amruen swallowed hard, studying Ernest's eyes as he asked his question. "What happened to Solace?" At this Ernest's red-rimmed eyes widened, and his lips quivered and frowned. Then he began to sob and bury his head in his pillow.

"I didn't want you to know," Ernest's muffled voice replied. "I didn't want you to know about…it. You'd think I was crazy. A gun became my only friend. The only person I could love. You wouldn't understand. I'm sorry that you got stuck with me, the nutcase!" Ernest's tears had stained the pillow as Amruen turned him around to face him.

"No, it's all right. I understand. You didn't have a choice. You needed a friend," Amruen said, patting his mentor on the back. "I watched your Games. Seeing you love Solace was…moving." In truth Amruen had found it depressing, knowing that Ernest had been driven nearly insane and had had to make his gun a friend to pretend he had an ally. Loneliness had a powerful effect on some people, especially when you weren't prepared for it. Amruen thought back to those first days when he realized that his parents were never coming back.

"You…you don't think I'm crazy?" Ernest asked desperately.

"No, I don't. Solace was a great friend to you. But now, you want to move on. I get that. But meanwhile, in the present, there's somebody that needs her more."

"What are you saying?" Ernest asked nervously, although Amruen couldn't see it as anything but obvious.

"I need Solace. Your gun. I want to use it during training, to scare them."

"WHAT?! NO! YOU CAN'T HAVE MY SOLACE! YOU CAN'T HAVE HER!" Ernest cried, getting out of bed and backing towards the wall.

"Relax, I won't kill anyone. I just need to shoot a few bullets into the bullet-proof glass they put up for your Games. Something to get their attention."

"No! You can't have Solace! She's MY gun, MINE!" Ernest cried. "I don't want your filthy hands touching her! You'll violate her!"

Amruen was confused for a moment, but then his eyes also widened in realization. On one level, Ernest knew that Solace was a gun. But on another level, he saw her as another person, a sort of wife or girlfriend for himself—perhaps that was why Solace was constantly referred to as a "she". For him to ask him to hand her over was like asking him to "hand over" a spouse or a loved one to a stranger, to use as they pleased.

"Besides…I threw her away," Ernest went on. "I think she understood. We had to drift apart, go our separate ways. She had been useful to me for only a short time, it was wrong of me to make her feel like she needed to stay with me. So we're not together anymore. I did it so that I could be a mentor. I did it for you."

"But I need her right now," Amruen insisted. "She's a gun, and she has to keep doing what she does best." Maybe there was some way he could make him understand that there was no possible way for him to see Solace the way he did?

"No. She's retired from conflict, and so am I," Ernest replied stubbornly.

"Well, are you sure you didn't just misplace her? Are you sure you didn't bring her with you?" Amruen demanded. His patience was beginning to wear. Suddenly, Amruen scowled at him and stood up straight, no longer the cowardly, shy man he had been before.

"I know what this is about," Ernest declared. Amruen was hopeful for a moment.

"Good! Now just have your escort maybe get on a train back to your house and—"

"No. I mean, I know what this is _really _about," Ernest said, looking towards the corners of the walls. Probably to the cameras, Amruen presumed, but why? He got his answer when Ernest launched into a tirade.

"It won't work, you sick Capitol freaks!" Ernest shrieked. "You won't get me to go back there again! I'm not doing it! How stupid do you think I am? I've found out your little experiment now! Now let me out of your laboratory and let me go home! I threw Solace away, and if you want her she's in the trash! We are THROUGH!" Amruen saw Ernest glance at him briefly before continuing:

"And you can take your agents back with you! I hope you're happy, because they've sure messed me up! "Noelle" made reminded me of how heartless I was in the Games, and "Amruen" was about to make me join him in his pretend struggle! Nice try! You want me to go back to the war zone. I know exactly what you want me to do. It's not over, isn't it?! There's more to it! Is this really a Quarter Quell where you send all the old victors back? Or is someone waging war against Panem? Tell me now, or your precious agents will get it!"

"Ernest, I'm not a Capitolite agent! I hate them, too!" Amruen protested. Ernest sneered as he rushed towards him.

"Of _course _they would make you say that!" he cried, attempting to tackle Amruen to the ground. Amruen had to put his hands up in front of his face to stop Ernest from striking at him with his fists. Ernest then kicked his tribute in the shin, stunning Amruen long enough to for Ernest to grab his head and shove it into the pillow he had been crying in.

"Taste real tears, Capitolite bastard!" Ernest cried, attempting to smother Amruen.

The tribute's mind raced in panic, and his adrenaline kicked in, giving him enough strength to shove Ernest and release himself from his mentor's grip. Amruen then grabbed Ernest's shoulders and pinned him to the wall. The escort came in just in time to see this occur.

"What are you doing to your mentor?!" the escort replied. Amruen didn't need to respond, for Ernest quickly broke free of his grip for a just a moment so that he could grab a lamp and hurl it at the escort.

. . . . .

Ernest was quickly arrested by Peacekeepers and temporarily detained. Noelle had been awaked by all of the commotion, and when Amruen explained what had happened a guilty look came on her face.

"What? What did you do?!" Amruen demanded angrily. Noelle explained to him her scheme that she had formulated. Amruen groaned.

"See what you did?! You made him upset by going on about how vengeful you were and your stupid ex and your weird trust and exploitation problem! Can't you just leave him alone, he's got enough trouble in his life? Would you have liked it if people had bothered you after your oh-so-tragic breakup?!"

"Nothing I said triggered him and his memories. What were you thinking, asking for his gun? Do you WANT to be avoxed by Peacekeepers, or worse, executed? Do you think you're safe for now just because you're a tribute? Believe me, they're probably going to consider replacing you after the way you made Ernest snap. Now we've got nobody to help us!"

"You two can bicker over petty things later," their escort said. "All the trouble you _both _caused with Ernest has caused you to miss your last few moments of training. Go down to the private training room and show the Gamemakers something."

The District partners said nothing as they went down to the elevator together, thinking that perhaps their escort had been right. Maybe it _had _been both of their faults. There was nothing left to do now except trudge on without Ernest.

**Seneca Crane**

He had done this so many times before that it was impossible for him not to be objective.

While the Capitolites predictably clamored for interviews, Seneca knew that the real analysis lay in the private training. In interviews, tributes were often forced to lie about themselves, fearing that if they were too honest then their flaws would be exposed. They somehow thought it was smarter to overinflate a lie rather than emphasize the good aspects of the truth, and simply shelve the bad parts away for the Games to expose.

But here that was impossible. The Gamemakers were the people that you didn't want to hold back anything from. If you wanted to pretend to be weak in front of others, that was fine, but in here there was no way to tell a lie successfully. Seneca and his associates had watched enough tributes show off their skills to know who was holding back and who was giving it their all.

Most people hadn't noticed it yet, but Johanna's performance had set a precedent. She had made herself appear to be on the weaker side during her private training, but when it was realized that the Gamemakers had only observed her superficially, stricter observation had been emphasized. In order to prove they had been paying attention the Gamemakers were required to collaborate on an analysis of each tribute, which was to be sent to the President. It was unknown whether Snow had studied them or thrown them away, but it had been confirmed that President Atkinson certainly looked at them, occasionally sending a response for certain tributes, usually a prediction of some sort. Some were accurate, while others were not. No doubt with the ambition he had to make sure this Games was a poignant one, Matthias would send responses on each tribute. Seneca usually dreaded that part of the Games, because the President's analyses would get rather long-winded at times. Thankfully, he usually wrote about no more than 6 tributes.

Katniss and her infamous apple-shooting had set another precedent; alcohol and excessive food were no longer to be served so that no one could get distracted. It certainly made an improvement on the quality of the notes taken, and those that were handwritten were much less sloppy. Everyone was able to contribute better to the analyses, although up until Snow's death it hadn't come to much fruition. In addition, a wall of bullet-proof glass now separated the tributes from the Gamemakers, to prevent any accidental deaths.

And in the 80th Games, the private training room had been re-designed. Instead of having everything a tribute might have used scattered around, the room started out completely empty. The tribute would have to call out a command, and whatever they wanted to appear would be brought in from another room from the panels in the walls, floor and ceiling from the adjacent storerooms. The most common request was for dummies—not the stationary kind from the training center, but mobile ones, with machinery and circuitry hidden just beneath their sack skin. They had targets for faces and targets on their chests, where their heart should be, and they were weak and frail enough for nearly any tribute to demonstrate how they would plan on killing someone in the Arena. They even had an extreme vulnerability to most poisons that would normally take much longer to take effect. If you hit them right you could even make them bleed oil. Yet at the same time, they were also tough enough to provide an adequate test to each tribute, in preparation for real opponents whose torsos and heads were sliced off with a bit more difficulty.

"Can we go in alphabetical order this time?" an intern begged Seneca.

"There's no need," he replied. "The boy from 1—Rex Adamas—would still be at the top of the list. Let's begin."

A panel on one of the walls opened, and Rex bounded inside. The others could be seen waiting in a line behind him briefly before the door closed again.

"Big two-handed sword!" Rex called out. Seneca smiled. It was good to see that he knew how it worked, but he was surprised that this guy did not—or perhaps could not—know what a claymore was—a large sword that fit his description.

A Gamemaker whose job it was to manage the room pressed a button, and a panel in the floor a few feet in front of Rex opened up, lifting up a large steel sword from a pedestal, the blade wedged in a slot. At the same time, another panel on the wall opened, and several dummies entered the room and charged—rather slowly—at Rex. They were programmed to automatically adapt to the tribute's skill level, so the more relentless the tribute was, the more aggressive they got, and vice versa.

Rex grabbed his sword with both hands and charged at the dummies, his blade slicing through the dummy's stomach enough to tear open its sack skin and expose its metal insides but not enough to make it bleed, although a normal human certainly would have. The other dummies fought back with lighter swords of their own, but Rex blocked their strikes and slashed at them one at a time, quickly "killing" them. When they had all collapsed he cried, "Gimme some more!" and tossed his sword aside. Understanding that he was attempting to demonstrate his physical strength, the Gamemaker sent out more dummies, this time unarmed but programed to be more suited to hand-to-hand combat. Rex punched one dummy in the face, jabbed it with his elbow in the stomach and slammed it down with his fist. Next he gripped another dummy's shoulders and shoved it, sending it reeling it backwards. Rex rushed at it again, this time slamming it into the wall. The last dummy punched Rex in the side of his face, but Rex wrapped his huge hands around its neck with a malicious grin, attempting to snap its neck. After a few seconds, though, he found that the metal was too tough to bend, and so instead he pushed inward, attempting to strangle the dummy instead. In accordance with its programming, it "died" after 45 seconds of this punishment despite having no need for oxygen.

A few Gamemakers clapped, and Seneca began writing down some notes. Rex was clearly a powerhouse, but there was a chance he could be easily outwitted. The way he had not known the name of a claymore indicated his intelligence—someone could perhaps convince him that nightlock had healing properties, provided that he did not kill them on sight first. And his attempt at snapping the dummy's neck and forgetting that it was a machine showed that he did not know that there were limits to his strength.

"What a badass! Although a little dense," an intern remarked.

"I think he deserves a 9," Seneca declared. "Your remark sums him up quite nicely. Next is Dorea Calis."

The weapons and dummies were consumed by panels in the floor, and when Rex left the room through a panel to the right of the one that the tributes entered, there was no evidence that he had been here at all. Dorea stepped into the room as Rex left and simply said: "Plants."

Seneca raised an eyebrow in surprise. By "plants" it was usually understood that a tribute was asking for their knowledge of edible and inedible plants to be tested. In previous Games there had only been identification books for edible ones, but a few years of recent reform had decided that it would be best for tributes to have the option of studying poisonous ones as well, in hopes that they would find ways to use them. But even then most Careers did not think of studying these, presuming that it was best for them to be left alone (with nightlock being an occasional exception). If they ran into any tributes that _did _know about these plants, they would simply kill them so that they wouldn't have to worry about being poisoned.

At the press of another button, grass and a variety of flowers sprouted up from the floor through tiny holes. These plants were actually synthetic, but they looked just like their natural counterparts. Even the ones that had been wiped to extinction in Panem.

Dorea went around the room, looking at each plant and calling out the names. An artificial bell chime echoed in the room when she got one right, and a harsh buzz resounded when she got one wrong. Dorea understood that she could not guess again on any plant that she got wrong. Half a minute later all the plants had been attempted at, she had gotten 32 out of 35 correct.

"Let's give her another test, shall we?" Seneca asked with a grin. The intern that managed the panels asked, "You mean the trees?"

"Precisely what I was thinking. Send them in." Before Dorea could call out for anything else, several trees shot up from the ground. The books at the edible plants stations did not mention any of these trees (although trees technically qualified as plants) because the books dealt with plants that were almost always in the Arena whenever there was a forested environment. This year some additional sheets giving information about various other trees had been given.

"Hmm…I saw these…" Dorea muttered. "That one's a citrus…I can't be specific since its fruit is practically nonexistent. And that one is a Lebanon cedar." Dorea was clearly lost in thought, most likely realizing that these trees were being shown to her for a reason. "Redwood, cypress, polar, olive, and fig. Those were all the ones that had their own special papers. And those others are just pine and oak, they're around in a lot of Games." Finished with plant identification, Dorea turned to the Gamemakers. Seneca could swear he was looking straight at her.

"But enough of that. Let's get down to business. Two broadswords, please." The plants quickly all fell back into the panels, and in their place lay two swords. Dorea picked up one as dummies began to pour in. She expertly fought them off, mainly fighting defensively, only striking and jabbing at those rare moments when none of the dummies were. When they started to surround her, she jumped and kicked her legs in opposite directions with enough force to knock two of the dummies over. She quickly ran out of the melee and turned to pick up her other sword, this time fighting aggressively, using one sword as a shield and quickly overwhelming her opponents. When they had all "died" she dropped her weapons and said, "Snare!". A tree and some rope appeared, and Dorea began to set up the trap. She asked for a boulder, oddly enough, and when it was given she climbed the trunk of the tree, tying one end of the rope around and nestling it between the branch and the trunk. Next she made a noose with the other end of the rope and stretched it out across the branch, laying down the noose end on the ground.

When she was finished another dummy appeared and ambled directly into her trap, ignoring the bodies of his dead comrades. This one had been programmed simply to walk forward so that it if the trap was successful it could deliberately trigger it. When the dummy stepped his foot in the snare, the rock fell out of place and fell, the other end of the rope still tied around it. The dummy was hoisted upwards by his foot upside down from the weight of the boulder, and Dorea asked for a knife to slit its throat.

Most Careers never considered these sorts of things, Seneca noted to himself. He had learned this about a decade ago, and very rarely did anyone challenge this idea. Dorea had just joined the ranks of a select few Careers with extra knowledge, 2 of which had won their Games. Dorea was about to call out for something else when Seneca informed her that her time was up.

"She's incredibly smart, not to mention capable of fighting," muttered an intern that, given the tone of his voice, was probably recalling seeing her alluring outfit in the chariot rides.

"She's not terribly strong, though," a woman pointed out. "She had trouble with that boulder."

"But her trap worked perfectly," Seneca reminded her. "She'll get an 11." A few people looked at him in surprise, expecting him to have issued a 10 instead. "She surpassed my expectations, but this doesn't guarantee her invincibility. Next is Tiberius Townsend."

Tiberius entered the room, and before Dorea even left he uttered: "Naginata."

"What? What language is he speaking?!" an intern cried out in hysteria. "Nobody told us this guy didn't know English!"

"Do we have one available?" Seneca asked the Gamemaker managing the panels.

"Two in stock, sir. These things aren't seen very often in the Games, so we don't have a ready supply."

"Then put a pair in the Cornucopia, too." The least Seneca could do was provide each tribute with their signature weapons. The fact that most of the tributes who even had such things were Careers didn't seem like a double standard to him. Most weapons were already provided anyway, this was just a special exception.

The naginatas—also known as glaives—were brought up, but Tiberius took only one and stabbed the first dummy to reach him in the stomach. Quickly withdrawing his weapon—now tipped with oil—Tiberius swung his weapon around and whacked a second dummy's head with the butt of the naginata to stun it before jamming the blade in the dummy's chest. Tiberius pulled it out again with a faint grunt, strafing to the left as a third dummy tried to swing at him with his sword. Tiberius jumped backwards and picked up his second naginata, returning to the offensive in seconds by slitting the dummies throats with the curved parts of the naginatas, rather than stabbing them in individuals as before.

Seneca raised an eyebrow in admiration. No wonder Tiberius had chosen this as his signature weapon. The naginata could be wedged into a victim's body easily, but the curved end could also be used like a long-ranged scythe. The sheer weight of the weapon also made it good for bludgeoning, too. In short, a weapon with a variety of uses, its only drawback being its weight. But Tiberius didn't seem to have any problem with that. _Had earlier Gamemakers forbade these weapons for a reason? _He wondered.

Tiberius quickly finished off his dummies. He turned to the Gamemakers as they watched him from behind their safe windows and called out "A few more!" The panel manager pressed a button, and more came out, this time running and attacking a bit faster and carrying different weapons. Tiberius charged at the group, immediately stabbing those in the front. Once the first two dummies had been "killed" he withdrew both naginatas and slashed them like scythes once more at the others, blocking strikes with the sides of the blades and with the pole ends, jutting them forward to keep the dummies out of striking distance. Tiberius swung his weapons horizontally and vertically as rapidly as he could, having to alternate from offense to defense in just seconds. Finally, when the dummies began to swarm around him, he dropped one naginata and broke the other near the start of the bladed end, wielding it like a cutlass. When he had the opportunity he picked up the other one and did the same to it, wielding the weapons much like the broadswords Dorea had used earlier. Since these were private sessions, there was no way he could have studied and copied Dorea's technique from watching her. Seneca concluded that he just happened to have a similar expertise in this matter; it was quite common for Careers to know similar things.

"Time! That's enough!" he told the Gamemakers after a few more seconds of this. The dummies vanished via floor panels, and Tiberius was breathing heavily and sweating a little, exhausted from his fighting. He trudged silently out of the room when the exit panel opened, even ignoring Steele.

"A very good fighter. I'll bet you 75 bucks he'd beat Rex in a fight!" one Gamemaker declared.

"Are you kidding? He's tiny compared to Rex! A couple of stabs with those things wouldn't hurt him at all!"

"Well his _neck's _not invincible."

"Unless he gets some armor!"

"He'll get a 10," Seneca proclaimed. "He's an excellent fighter, perhaps the best for this Games, but it seems to be all he does. Next is Steeleia Sharpe."

Steele walked in next with a distraught look on her face, probably because she was trying to imagine what Tiberius had done in here. Noticing the few splotches of oil on the ground, it was easy to guess.

"I want a sword, a shield, and some throwing knives," Steele ordered. "And give me one extra dummy more than what Tiberius faced." Her wish was granted, with the throwing knives appearing in a pouch that could be strapped onto the side of the belt of her training uniform (blades jutting inward), a sword wedged in a pedestal like the others, and a shield from a rack that had appeared on the wall. When the dummies poured in, armed with swords but no shields, Steele fought them off like a standard warrior, striking with her sword and blocking with her shield, but she did so with near perfection. Despite being quickly surrounded by the dummies, Steele kept her calm and struck at each of them enough to kill them one by one. Only occasionally was she hit, and even then it was only a minor wound on the leg or arm (the dummy's weapons were less sharp and damaging than the ones in the Arena).

Once all of the dummies were dead, Steele asked for another wave, and the Gamemakers obeyed. This time Steele tossed knives into the heads, throats and chests of the dummies that were at safe distances, only engaging with her sword and shield when necessary. It was difficult for her to switch between weapons, but when the awkward transition finished she was able to hold her own. Soon her time was up, and she exited like the others. Seneca was impressed with her as well, but the other Gamemakers had mixed reactions.

"She doesn't fight like Tiberius at all. She's a little slow in combat."

"Well, what did you expect? Not everybody can use—what did Tiberius call his weapons again?"

"I was hoping for that."

"We should try to arrange for them to fight evenly when we can," Seneca remarked. "While Steele may not fight with the same speed and ferocity as Tiberius, it's clear that she can hold out longer. He's too aggressive, and a shield is much better defensively than a naginata, as we've seen. Tiberius had to swing his weapons around like crazy just to avoid damage, but Steele seemed to hold her own. Whether she can do that in front of the person she allegedly hates remains to be seen. I'm giving her a ten, too. Next is Mohan Sim."

"Aw, now we have to take a break from the real fighters," someone groaned. Mohan scurried in and asked for the plants test, putting on a smile and hiding whatever fears he had well. After getting 20 of the 35 correct he asked to be allowed to make a fire, and while successful he took his time in doing it.

"Thank you, Mohan. You have about a minute left," Seneca said. "I don't think there's anything you can do that—"

"Wait!" Mohan protested. "Uh, give me…can you give me a sort of interrogation scenario?" he pleaded. Seneca turned to his fellow Gamemakers.

"I'll let you decide," he told them.

"Do we even have that? What's with all the tributes asking for weird things? They're all too damn creative!"

"The dummies can't talk, though, how could we do that?"

"45 seconds." The Gamemaker at the panels pressed a few buttons to send out some dummies, all but one of them unarmed. They immediately pinned Mohan to the ground and the one with the knife pointed it at Mohan, whose expression was blank despite his widened eyes.

"Where have you stashed your supplies?" the Gamemaker asked as the dummy interrogator.

"I left them by the hill," Mohan replied. "They're buried on the north side, under a clump of dirt where the hill begins to slope up." The Gamemakers looked at the tribute incredulously, but Seneca looked on.

"And where are your allies?" the dummy "asked".

"If you let me go, then I'll try and lead you to them. Before you captured me, we had planned on fleeing west, out of the marsh. I can lead you to where they went. I'm a good tracker," Mohan insisted. The dummy let him go, and the exit panel opened automatically to signal that Mohan's time was up. Mohan immediately dashed away from the dummies and ran out, and as Noiz stepped in she looked at the dummies in confusion.

"Noiz Huxley," Seneca told everyone.

"How could we _not _know about her? She kept darting around the training center, and we almost had to give up watching her!" a Gamemaker complained.

"Let me guess, Mohan tried to show you something?" Noiz asked the dummies just before they were swallowed up by the floor panels. "No, wait, bring them back. Also give them some throwing knives. I just want a tree and some poison darts." The tree—placed close to the wall between the entrance and exit panels-and the blowgun with its darts appeared first, and Noiz loaded up the dart gun and climbed the tree, quickly settling in a branch halfway at the top. The dummies came in next, and Noiz hid behind some limbs and leaves to conceal herself. The dummies would likely have seen her if they looked up, but the Gamemakers initially programmed them not to. Noiz would have to draw attention to herself deliberately for them to engage her.

She did just that by aiming her blowgun and shooting a dart in the neck of one of the dummies, which almost immediately died from the poison. The other dummies immediately looked upwards and spotted her, one of them even throwing a knife in her direction. The knives were actually just plastic so that in case they hit they couldn't possibly harm a tribute, but the dummies were programmed to throw them like real ones when necessary for a demonstration. Noiz jumped downwards off the tree towards the wall, her feet touching at an angle so that she could bounce off and land to the floor with the momentum. She landed on the ground near the group of dummies, one of which tried to throw another knife at her. Noiz dodged by leaping behind the dummy directly in front of her, who took the attack for her. The dummy "died" in accordance with its programming, the plastic "weapon" harmlessly bouncing off his sack skin.

"Ok, no more dummies. Give me some camouflage," Noiz ordered. The dummies disappeared, but the tree remained. Jars of various colors of paints appeared, along with some brushes, all supported by a table that emerged from the floor. Noiz rolled up the sleeves and pants legs of her training uniform and proceeded to paint the exposed skin the same color as the bark on the tree trunk. She did so, placing her limbs in front of the bark and holding them there.

"Close your eyes for a couple of seconds and see if you can find them again," Noiz challenged with a smirk. Seneca did so, and although he had known where she had placed them before, he knew that Noiz had obviously waved them around and froze them in another spot in those few seconds. He had to admit that she had blended in quite well. Most likely she could do the same thing with her whole body if she had to. Then her time ended, and she left to be replaced by Clyde.

"What do you think of those two?" Seneca asked his associates before Clyde was told to begin.

"Mohan doesn't show much promise. Noiz certainly does, though," one Gamemaker said.

"Is there any way we can let Noiz survive the bloodbath? Maybe give her a head start or something?" another asked.

"Heck, no! She's on her own in there. We can't just help tributes willy-nilly!"

"But we target them specifically to kill them off a lot!"

"Not in these Games," Seneca commanded. "The mutts follow fixed paths, remember? Noiz's survival is luck of the draw, as always. So is Mohan's. He gets a 4 and she gets an 8."

"An 8?! But she can't fight!" Seneca sighed. Each year there always seemed to be some tribute that he felt deserved a higher score, only for it to be lowered due to the fact that they weren't Careers and naturally didn't specialize in fighting.

"Fine. Seven," he told them regretfully. "Would anyone like to contest Mohan's score before we move on to Clyde Morissey?" He received several Nos, and so Clyde's turn began.

"Trident," Clyde muttered, and he received one. He grabbed it and jabbed at the dummies that poured out with its blunt end, prodding and bludgeoning with surprising force. But when the dummies gradually grew a bit hardier in response to his aggression, he swung the weapon around, stabbing with the pronged end. Once a few dummies had been killed, Clyde suddenly ordered the rest to go away.

"Flood," he said simply. "Most weapons wouldn't be as useful underwater," he reminded the Gamemakers. They looked at Seneca expectantly. The "flood" command would cause the room to fill with water almost up to the ceiling. It was usually meant for tributes to demonstrate their swimming capabilities—which were sometimes not needed in the Arena—but there had already been a few incidents in which tributes had almost drowned, ruining their private training sessions.

"He's from 4. He'll survive," Seneca reassured them. At the press of a button four panels on the ceiling, and 3 of the 4 walls opened, and water poured in from the ceiling rapidly. In about less than a minute the room was nearly filled with water, and Clyde swam to the surface, his head just a few feet below the ceiling.

"Now give me some opponents!" Clyde cried out, his clothes and body soaking wet. Unarmed dummies came in and swam to the surface with Clyde, who immediately lunged at the first one to surface, shoving it back down underwater. The other dummies tried to liberate their friend, but Clyde wrapped his arms around his captive's torso and kicked his legs furiously, both to swim to the opposite wall and to hoard off the dummies that swam after him. From underwater he shoved the dummy against the wall, waiting until it stopped struggling and eventually "drowned". Clyde himself was low on air, and the Gamemakers lowered the water level slightly so he could take a breath, going back down after a few seconds. Clyde then shoved, strangled, and kicked the other dummies, forcing them to either fight him or try and surface for air, although they didn't actually need it. Those that fought were pummeled and shoved to the floor as much as possible, and those that tried to surface were pulled back down to the water before they could surface. After finding a good opportunity, Clyde briefly surfaced for air himself while still trying to keep the dummies down. Shortly after his second breath his time was up, and the water was quickly drained, leaving nothing but a damp floor behind. The dummies were swallowed with the last gallon of water. Clyde was informed that his time was up, and he left, shaking his head to try and get the water out of his hair.

"Typical 4 tribute," a Gamemaker remarked. "Tridents, swimming—he'll certainly be lucky this year."

"I think he seems a bit overconfident—or perhaps he's only trying to look strong in front of us," Seneca mused. "He'll get a 10. Next we have Thaleia Starling."

"I hope she doesn't ask for the flood, too," The Gamemaker managing the panels spoke up. "It's really difficult to get that thing reset, you know."

Thaleia entered with a hardened look on her face, but it changed quickly when she looked down and felt her foot step in a puddle of water. Seneca could see her eyes widen in surprise, but then she just as quickly relaxed, apparently having internally soothed her worries. This was something he knew to take note of.

"Ok…first I'll start off with a sword," Thaleia told the Gamemakers. She received one along with some dummies. She fought them off as best as she could, blocking and striking when she had the opportunity, but even Seneca could tell that there were a few problems. Thaleia seemed to have difficulty with multiple opponents, so the Gamemakers quietly modified a few while she was fighting them to hold back and strike only minimally. Thaleia did much better with one opponent, though, and she quickly made short work of each of them as she fought them one at a time.

"Now give me a mace, I want to try that out," Thaleia ordered.

_I want to try that out?_ Seneca repeated in his mind. She probably didn't realize what she was implying there. Thaleia was given her mace and new set of dummies, this time toned down a bit. She did about as well with the sword as she did with the mace; moderately aggressive, occasionally wisely defending, and better with one or two aggressive opponents rather than three or more. She also seemed to be backing up occasionally when one dummy tried to hit her from the side, apparently trying to keep them all in her vision at once. She needn't have worried; the dummies had been scaled back so that they wouldn't go around and hit her from behind, based on her own input.

This process was repeated with a dagger, and then Thaleia's time was up.

"She can kill, but not very well. She's not really good with anything," A Gamemaker said.

"That leads to versatility, however," Seneca said. "Most Careers seemed to favor one weapon primarily, and their skill level drops significantly when they're given something they don't normally use. Thaleia's indecision on having a signature weapon just might be an asset if she can get her opponents to use something they're not used to. She'll get an 8." Seneca paused for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would bring up how she had reacted to the fact that water had just been in the room. No one said a word, so apparently they didn't read too much into it or didn't even notice it at all. "Copper Nyrstar is next," he added.

Copper entered with a smug-looking grin on his face. "I'll think you'll find my skills…exceptional. May I have a Warhammer, please?" Out of the corner of his eye Seneca could see a Gamemaker's jaw drop, clearly having not expected a non-Career to ask for such a weapon as that. The Gamemaker in charge of the panels pressed the button—Seneca could see his finger shaking, as if he were afraid for some reason—and the weapon appeared, its blunt end lying on the ground with the handle pointed upwards. Copper picked up the heavy hammer with both hands, not making a sound. Seneca could see a smile on his face as he did. The dummies were sent in, this time with daggers rather than swords so that they could strike quickly but with even less power than with the swords. Copper clutched his weapon's handle, his left hand on the middle and his right near the end, and he swung his weapon straight into the side of the dummy on the far left, knocking him off his feet and crashing into the others. The dummies nearly fell like dominoes, but the one on the far right managed to keep his balance while the others landed on the floor. Copper then raised his weapon high above his head in front of this last dummy and swung it down with force to send him toppling to the ground. Copper then finished this dummy off by swinging the same way as he had before, this time crushing its metallic skull. Oil spilled out from the wound, and the end of the hammer was coated with a thin black film.

"Great, the floor will be a mess by the end of this!" a Gamemaker complained. Copper, meanwhile, pummeled the rest of the injured dummies to death one at a time, most of them too weak to get up. One, however, did, and in doing so it slashed at Copper's chest, making a tear in his training shirt and giving him a long gash. Copper responded by giving a quick, sadistic chuckle and a loud clang, courtesy of his hammer. The last dummy "died" just like the others, a major dent in its shoulders.

"Now that that's over with…Plants!" Copper cried cheerfully. The plants Dorea and Mohan had tried to identify sprung up once more, as well as the trees.

"No, no!" Copper said, shaking his head. "I mean the poisonous ones! Please?" Seneca wondered just how much frustration he was penting up, if at all. The edible plants were swapped with poisonous ones, which were of course all made of paper to prevent accidental—or intentional—poisonings. Most of these weren't going in the Arena, but it was interesting to see how much Copper knew. And if he knew a lot, then Seneca could consider adding a few more in.

"Mayapple—roots can cause comas, vomiting, abnormal cellular division, and maybe even death. Blue cohosh—it has pretty blue berries that can ruin your intestines! Poison Ivy—Itches like crazy on the skin, but inhaling its fumes…well…that's even worse. Hemlock—in about 3 hours you can die after eating it. Castor beans—put them in your mouth and you might die! Foxglove—a much more dangerous alternative to LSD. Wisteria—an excellent source of abdominal pain and nausea. And nightlock, of course. You all know that one. Unfortunately, most of these must be _eaten _to actually work. Now give me Chemistry! And make sure to give me some syringes."

"Oh, great, another psycho!" A Gamemaker complained to Seneca. Seneca gave a grim smile. He actually enjoyed watching them work. Most of them were actually quite well-behaved, at times.

The plants vanished and were replaced with a long table with various beakers, Bunsen burners, flasks, and various liquids and powders. All of them were labelled, but it was up to the tribute to decide what to make with them. Usually they went for skin irritants and corrosive acids, but occasionally they made some explosions, although these were mainly aesthetic and couldn't be used very effectively in the Arena without the proper supplies.

Copper took his time and made a few simple skin irritants, noxious fumes, scalding solutions and a few neurotoxins. All of the liquids that could be safely transported out of their beakers were filled in all of the available syringes. When he was finished he cried "Now send in the dummies!" They came, and Copper immediately threw his syringes into the first few necks he saw. The dummies staggered under the effects of the poison, but their comrades behind them picked up the slack, advancing closer to Copper's table. Copper then took some of the beakers and flasks filled with skin irritants and corrosive acids and splashed them on the other dummies. The dummies all reeled in pain from their respective itches and burns, but they were far from dead. But that was all Copper needed. Seizing his Warhammer, he pummeled the weakened dummies one by one until all of them lay "dead". Usually a few blows in a vital area was enough. Copper then took a bow, asking politely for a sink to wash his hands in. The chemistry table vanished, but because the Gamemakers obviously did not have a sink, the exit panel opened instead. Copper's time was about up, anyway.

"I just love the smart and crazy ones!" a Gamemaker cried ecstatically. "And this one can hold his own in a fight, too!"

"I hope a sponsor can get him a few things, given the Arena," another Gamemaker said hopefully.

"A 9, yes?" Seneca asked. Everyone nodded. "Ok, then. Riley Covington is next."

Riley appeared as Copper vanished. "I don't need any weapons. Just give me a few of those suckers I've heard so much about from the others." Seneca chuckled. There was no way Riley could have heard about the dummies from the other tributes, but the first year they had used them the Victor had given the declassified details. She seemed to be quite the clown.

The dummies were sent out without weapons, but modified for hand-to-hand combat. Riley ducked and strafed to avoid their punches, and she responded with her own, giving quick, painful jabs in the stomach and more powerful blows to the face. It was difficult for her to actually "kill" them, but after a few blows they became helpless. Only after about a minute had passed did one finally "die", although the other two were well on their way.

"Ok, now give me a sword!" Riley called out. The Gamemakers did so, and with a simple throat slit the nearly pseudo-comatose dummies "died". Riley left after that, her time nearly over.

"She's a great boxer. We don't get many of those," a Gamemaker remarked.

"I know. It's a shame, right?" Another replied. "What if we had a Quarter Quell with no weapons? Who thinks that's a good idea?"

"I don't know, people might think it was unfair. And the battles might be a bit too drawn out for them."

"Riley gets a 7," Seneca declared. "Her hand-to-hand skills are superb, but she seems to only want to use blades as a last resort. And in an Arena where hardly anyone else seems the same way, there's only so much power she can have in her fists and feet." The others nodded accordingly, some of them not quite understanding what he had said. "Now for Darius Irons."

Despite being only a year younger than Riley, Seneca was taken aback by Darius' smaller size, before he remembered that Riley had obviously bulked herself up for that, whereas this boy had not. But appearances certainly weren't everything in these Games, he remembered almost fondly. No one had expected shy, awkward Ernest to do so well with a gun.

"Hi," Darius said with a bizarre mixture of amicability and curtness. "I'd like a bow, some arrows, and a dagger, please." He request was granted, and a few dummies poured in once he had armed himself, as custom. Darius quickly drew his bow and fired at the first dummy's chest, but missed the heart by a few inches. The dummy reeled in pain but quickly pulled the arrow out of himself.

Seneca frowned in disappointment. Here was a Katniss wannabe that just couldn't live up to her greatness. When would these people realize that it took practice and precision to kill someone with an arrow instantly?

Darius backed up a bit and strafed to the dummy's right, firing another arrow downwards. This one hit the dummy in the back of his leg. Seneca wasn't sure whether this had just been bad aim, jitters, or a deliberate attempt to stun him.

He got his answer when the dummy's wound began to bleed oil and the machine limped in pain. He couldn't apply much pressure to that leg before he quickly jerked it back. Seneca realized that Darius' aim had not been to kill, but to immobilize. The dummy was much slower with a nearly incapacitated leg, and in too much pain to attack properly. At least, that was how it had been programmed to feel.

Darius got a bit closer to the dummy and shot in arrow in the arm that was holding the sword, causing him to drop it. Darius then rushed forward and slit the throat of the dummy with his dagger, "killing" it. The other dummies quickly moved in to replace their comrade, but Darius went backwards again, taking care to hit first a leg and then an arm on one dummy at a time. Darius picked off the weak ones and took care to avoid the strong ones, eventually finishing them all off one by one.

"Thank you," Darius told the Gamemakers when the dummies were dead. "Now I'd like the necessary supplies for tripwire. But instead of rope I'd prefer a long string of thin nylon. It can be concealed better. Also, could you modify the floor to give it a thin layer of dirt?" he asked. "Also, keep the dead dummies."

Seneca could quickly determine why he would want that, and it was granted to him. The artificial ground used for the edible plants appeared, but this time it was barren save for a few patches of grass. After inspecting the dummies' dead bodies. Darius tore off his remaining arrows and buried the heads in the dirt a in a rectangular pattern a few feet away from the tripwire he had set up between two tree stumps that had appeared for the purpose of aiding with tripwire. When the trap was done and Darius gave a quick nod to the Gamemakers, a dummy was sent out, unarmed and naïve like Dorea's victim. The dummy tripped, falling on the sharp arrowheads, which pierced his face and chest in various places. None of the edges were wedged in his body, but they all made a number of individual wounds deep enough to cause bleeding. As the dummy struggled to get up, Darius crept behind him and wedged his dagger in the back of the dummy's neck. Then, despite the dummy already being dead, he dragged the body away from the trap and asked:

"Do you have anything that can sever the dummy's alloys? Sever, not corrode." A panel from the floor opened up, and a buzzsaw did the work for him, slicing off the dummy's leg. Darius said down in the dirt and got to work, carefully observing the wires and artificial joints of the robotic leg. The process was a bit dull, and a few Gamemakers even dozed off, but Seneca watched with fascination. By the time he was done, Darius had overstayed by a half a minute, but that could be accommodated. When he was done repairing the limb, Darius was told to leave.

"The first part was cool, but the rest was boring!" a Gamemaker complained. "The trap was cool, I guess."

"Don't you see?" Seneca asked them. "Darius has experience with prosthetics. Given the right resources, he could repair an amputated limb! In my experience _no one _has come into the Games with this sort of knowledge before. And even though he can't aim well, he inevitably has to have a good degree of anatomical knowledge to be able to strike at the Achilles' tendon and any other muscle groups he can get an arrow into. In fact, he seems to know more about joints and limbs than vital areas. He may not be able to kill outright, but he can render an opponent helpless if he's at a distance and can keep a level head."

"Ok, then, if you feel so strongly about it, we'll give him a 6 instead of a 5," the complaining Gamemaker replied.

"You were going to give him a 5?" Seneca asked incredulously. "If anything, 6 is a compromise. I'd prefer a 7—"

"No!" several other Gamemakers groaned.

"He can't fight!"

"He's wimpy-looking!"

"Shut up," Seneca said sternly at his associates. "You're all acting more immature than the Capitolites at the chariots, with their whining and gasping for Lidda."

"I didn't actually watch that, what happened?" one of the Gamemakers asked.

"Next is Elodie Kruger," Seneca announced to them, ignoring the question. Elodie walked calmly to the center of the room.

"I would like a chemistry table, please. No doubt you've seen my associate, Copper, at work." Elodie's request was granted, and in addition to making poisons similar or identical to Copper's, she also made some healing salves, medicines, and even…"

"Morphling!" a Gamemaker cried out. "Can I ask her for it?"

"Get some at home," Seneca replied, rolling his eyes. This had happened only once in another private training session, but back then he had made the mistake of permitting it.

"I would like a wounded dummy to practice on," Elodie said, and she was given one. This dummy had a long gash that went from the back of his left shoulder down to his lower back. Elodie took a cloth and dipped in some of the medicine, soothing the open wound. The dummy had no mouth so he couldn't drink anything, although some Gamemakers had considered giving them a full digestive tract if necessary. The dummy's wound automatically sewed itself up to simulate the effects of the medicine, had it been applied to a human. Accelerated for time constraints, of course.

"Thank you. Now give me a few more moments, please, and then send out some hostile dummies and a knife," Elodie replied. After making a few poisons—all in liquid form, and noticeably different from Copper's—the dummies entered. Elodie took the syringes she had stored them in and squirted a bit of the liquid on the edge of her knife. She immediately dashed forward, jabbed at each dummy once, and ran away. In seconds, the dummies were shaking violently, and then they collapsed in death.

"Thank you for carrying out my orders," Elodie told the Gamemakers. "If you're curious about the poison I used, it was a neurotoxin replicating the effects of the venom of the King Cobra, with a hallucinogenic mixed in for a more potent version of the venom of the Cane Toad. I see that the dummies were especially vulnerable."

"Very good! Another poison user!" cried a Gamemaker. "This is going to be awesome if we can just make them both live! And Noiz, too, I guess."

"Elodie has a more refined style than Copper," Seneca declared. "She seems to prefer subtle poisoning to mere cold-blooded killing. She and Copper could make great allies for now, but perhaps bitter enemies later on. I'll give her an 8, for her lack of combat abilities, although she certainly makes up for it in other ways."

"Boss, I'm hungry!" A Gamemaker cried. "Plus all the oil and water and chemicals have completely ruined the floor. We oughta get that stuff cleaned!"

"Fine, I suppose an intermission will be acceptable," Seneca replied. One thing the inventors of the training room took pride in was the fact that it was nearly impossible for a tribute to determine what anyone preceded them did, but with all the antics of the first 12 tributes, the private training room had certainly taken a beating. Turning to an Avox that was allowed to stay with the Gamemakers to deliver food, he pointed the training room and said:

"Be sure not to use any cleaning agents, just water and cloths. And all of you take one of those chemical-cleansing showers afterwards, I don't want anyone getting anything dangerous in their systems."

**AN: Aaaaand here's an even longer chapter than before! I honestly did not expect the private training to take this long, and I'm sorry for anybody's tribute who hasn't gone yet. I'll get to them in the next chapter…once a few intermission POVs are done. Trust me, they'll be worth your time.**

**Trivia question: Including the actual (non-fanfic) episodes (there are 20) of Sym-Bionic Titan, what number episode would The Hat be if it and all the other fanfic episodes I wrote actually counted (wishful thinking)? I'd just take a guess, if I were you. I'm making these harder because SOMEONE****has been getting WAY too many sponsor points…**

**19**

**27**

**33**

**30**


	25. Scores mean many things

Private training, part 2: Scores mean many things

**Festus**

The silence pained him, but at least he could still see and hear. That much he was thankful for.

His 4 years as an Avox had been lonesome, more so the first than the later 3. He had been 17 on reaping day for the 79th Games—although it was just two more years he couldn't bear to go through it anymore. With his large family and numerous younger siblings, odds were high that one of them would be reaped. He didn't want it to be him, and he felt that he wouldn't be able to bear seeing it happen to any of the others.

And so he had foolishly decided that his problems could be fled from, so he ran away, in hopes of never having to worry about the reapings again. Maybe, he had thought, if he just lived under the radar somewhere else, somewhere where he would be safe from the Games, the Capitol would never come after him. He would visit his family from time to time, of course—so he had planned out in his mind—and with enough persuasion maybe he could convince all of them to join him, faking their deaths if necessary. They'd be the first family in Panem that wasn't from the Capitol that would never have to avoid the Games.

Unless, of course, he himself had been reaped, and then they'd come after him. But that was highly unlikely.

The first few days surviving in the wilderness between the Districts had been tough. Cornelius—as he had been back then—didn't have much experience with survival, and District 5 wasn't like certain other Districts he had heard rumors about, where the fence wasn't even electrified. He had had to persuade and bribe his way into finding out about a hole in the fence, created by some smugglers. In exchange for working under them for a few months—they themselves apparently worked for some criminal family simply known as the "Kerrs"—they told him the way to the Capitol and gave him a map after he had finished operations for them. During his days in the wilderness, in which he had to learn for himself how to hunt and survive, he would occasionally receive parcels from the smugglers, and all he had to do was leave them at the District's border fence for a contact still in the District to pick up. After a few months they were satisfied and told him the way.

In the Capitol, they explained, he could live right under his oppressors' noses without them knowing it; the Capitol had no extensive record of inhabitants like the Hunger Games did. Instead forts were built along the mountains that encircled the Capitol, keeping watch for wanderers and migrants. Outsiders who somehow made their way in through other means tended to be recognized easily, but even this could be circumvented. Thanks to his smuggler friends Cornelius was able to master a Capitolite accent—which, ironically, he would not need for long—and acquired the latest Capitolite fashion at the time; it had since changed several times over now. Cornelius was forced to give up all of the money he had earned to the Kerrs, but that was a small sacrifice to pay for supposed freedom.

Unbeknownst to him, District 5 was filled with Peacekeepers, searching the entire District for Cornelius. He had, in fact, been reaped. But by the time they had discovered that a section of the border fence was broken at one section, he was already gone, though a few smugglers were caught in his absence. Even after two weeks of searching—and by this time the Capitol had already reaped a replacement for Cornelius—the Capitol had not given up on finding him. The plan collaborated upon by both Seneca and Matthias was to edit the footage of the District 5 reapings to make it look like it had proceeded normally, and once Cornelius was captured—hopefully during the Pre-Games ceremonies—they would drop him in the Arena with the others, his punishment being that he would not have had any training, chariot rides, or interviews, thereby making him unnoticed by potential sponsors and helpless before even non-Career tributes. Only after Cornelius had died would it be explained who he was and why he was here. District 5 and the Kerrs were the only ones who knew the truth.

But the Capitol couldn't track down Cornelius until a month after the Games had ended, where they finally found him working in an expensive restaurant as a waiter, his Capitolite accent nearly perfect, but underneath the fashion they could tell that his physical appearance and the shape of his face and body was exactly as described by the Convington family. After some unethical interrogation techniques, he confessed to being the one they were looking for.

Matthias had almost immediately decided on public execution in order to "Show the Districts the futility of escaping." Seneca had suggested that they hold him in the Capitol until the next Games and place him in that one, making it look like he was reaped as a tribute. Matthias disagreed, but he found that his own to be rather lacking eventually as well. Augustiana had kindly pointed out to him that it was difficult for the Capitol to get riled up about someone who had tried to escape a Hunger Games that was already over. She also reminded him that the Districts themselves, except for 5, wouldn't be appalled or horrified by this. In 11, for example, executions were quite common, and many other would-be tributes in every District had escaped before—they had all just fled upon being reaped rather than before. It was essentially a rehashing of an old punishment, she argued. No one would be affected by it save for Cornelius' family.

Matthias had then suggested that perhaps they could execute him privately, informing only the Convington family. Augustiana countered that they would be very compelled to spread such a story, and if other Districts knew about it things could get risky. They may have been used to public executions, but if they found out that private ones had occurred as well, who knows how angry they'd be? Perhaps they wouldn't feel so powerless if they had learned that Cornelius had been successful in avoiding the Capitol, at least for a while. It only complicated things.

Augustiana had suggested—and Cornelius could never thank her enough for her clever plan—that he would be best Avoxed and kept as a servant. He had sought out the Capitol as his refuge, she argued, and what better way to punish him than to show him that the more you resist the Capitol, the tighter its grip on you was?

Festus remembered Augustiana relating this story to him while he was resting in the President's mansion, recovering from the procedure and wondering how he had got here. The Avoxing itself was a blur; he remembered being seized, dragged into a room and forced to lie on a metal table while his mouth was forced opened and some short of sharp, flexible instruments were sent down his throat. His scream of terror was suddenly muffled, and he recalled seeing the tips of the instruments glistening red and having clumps of something on them. Then he blacked out, concluding later that it was probably an anesthetic that did that.

When she had presented this solution to Matthias, Augustiana told him without him even having to ask, his mouth almost twitched into a smile. "Very well," he had replied. "I suppose you are in need of a companion. And you did a very good job of formulating an excuse."

From then on Augustiana and Festus had bonded, both trapped in the mansion and only led out for public functions in which the President both needed Augustiana and a servant to keep his tea warm or support him in case he was about to fall. So most of their time was spent alone together, mostly talking, watching TV, and comforting each other when they felt trapped. Sometimes the fact that he was practically a slave was quite depressing to Festus, but when Augustiana was around she could usually tell what he was trying to say without words, and she'd tell him that she was a slave, too, just in a different way. There were other times Augustiana was fed up with Matthias or stressed out by whatever he had told her was yet to come in her life, and every time Festus was there to help her back to her feet.

While it was clear that their friendship had since developed into a romance of sorts, sex was never a viable option. They had certainly considered it a few times, but Augustiana had told Festus how risky it could be. With them both having lived in the mansion for years they had never found a stash of contraceptives, and the other Avoxes never seemed to have any, either, considering that most of them never had the time for things like that. And with all the cameras in Matthias' mansion, who knew how he'd react if they were caught? Her theory was that Matthias would prefer for them to wait until after he died, and Festus was ok with that, although there were days when he looked back on their agreement and wondered why he had been so passive about it. He was ok with the risks associated with fleeing from his own reaping, but not with having a discreet fling with the only girl who inhabited his life now? Something about being Avoxed had changed him, he knew.

Hardly a day passed where Festus briefly thought of home, of how District 5 could have changed in his absence. Given the way Riley had complied with her psychotic District partner's demands, he could tell that she had changed with him, even if any of the others hadn't. Back when he was Cornelius Covington, rather than Festus the Avox With No Last Name Because Avoxes Aren't Important Enough For Those, he remembered her having a rebellious streak, and a defiant personality. Now she was more considerate of the consequences of her actions, and while she was still snarky it just seemed different from how she had been before.

When he had first heard that Riley would be reaped he was shocked and utterly devastated. His tears made up for his lack of moans, and Augustiana was very sympathetic, even though he had to point to his face and hers a dozen times for her to get the resemblance. Then, quite unexpectedly, she even cried a little with him. Fortunately, Matthias had been watching in another room.

"I'll do whatever I can to let you see her again, in person," Augustiana promised. He smiled and gave her a hug, and asked how she'd be able to arrange that.

"I'll think of something, I promise," she replied. "But I have to be subtle about it. I don't know if Matthias rigged her reaping or not. I don't think he would, though; your sister didn't do anything bad, right?" Festus shrugged. He hadn't had any contact with her since arriving here, so how would he know?

"Well, I don't want to just ask him," Augustiana said. "For all the time I've known him, I can never really tell how he'll react. Sure, he's an old man and wouldn't hurt me, but for so long I've been afraid of doing something to get on his bad side. Like when I intervened for you; I almost did it because I thought he'd punish me for even thinking about the idea…somehow."

Festus had told her that she didn't need to worry so much about Matthias. He was an old man that seemed to put up with everything that he was only vaguely aware of. And yet, Festus sometimes thought to himself, it was this very permissive attitude that Matthias had that kept her so worried about angering him. That was why she mostly listened rather than spoke around him. Festus was never sure whether to be grateful or angry at the President for the way he had influenced both of their lives. And yet, the worst thing he had ever done to them was not let them leave the grounds of his mansion when they wanted to.

_And here in the Games, he'll do it to more people, my sister included, _Festus thought as he waited in the Avox Quarters—a building meant to house all of the ones that worked for the President—for Augustiana to come back.

"He was on the phone when I went in," she explained. "But it seemed like whoever he was talking to was extremely patient. All he said to me was 'Tell him I haven't decided on his fate or his sisters'.' I guess you're in the clear for now, so even though we might have to sneak out we'll be fine even if he decides to go after us." Festus shot a fist in the air in mock triumph, then asked why they'd have to sneak out if Matthias seemed to be his usual self on the matter.

"You know how he is about either of us leaving when he doesn't want us to," Augustiana replied. "And just because he won't kill you for meeting Riley doesn't mean that he'll let you go home with her if she wins." Festus frowned and held her hand.

"Oh…did you think that's what he'd do if she won? Oh, Festus…" Augustiana hugged him as he breathed heavily in what would have been a sigh of depression, feeling her tears as their cheeks touched. Festus reached out his hand and felt for a sponge—the other Avoxes tended to leave them around the place-comically attempting to absorb her tears by dabbing at her face with it.

"Festus, stop being silly and listen!" Augustiana said, her mouth shifting back into that stern look he was so used to seeing from her. "I don't think he'd let you go just like that. And even then I don't want you to. You're the only one around here to talk to." Festus pulled her back, pointed at her mouth, and then pointed to himself.

"Ok, maybe talk _at_," Augustiana corrected herself. "But seriously, I don't think he'll let you leave. Maybe it's better for us—for me—if you stay. You still care about me, right?" Festus nodded, but he could see that she wouldn't understand. Still, it was nice of her to be sympathetic enough to get him to see his family. Changing the subject slightly, he asked her what she'd do while he had a much-need family reunion consisting of two people.

"I might visit with another tribute," Augustiana replied. "I don't want to say who. But it's not Copper, I promise!"

After Augustiana had vented about her frustrations with Matthias and they had both exchanged theories as to why he had been so shaken up by the District 12 chariot, Augustiana left Festus. It was lunchtime for the Avoxes anyway, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there had been something she had left unsaid that she had wanted to get out.

Or maybe it was like himself, best remembered only by a few people.

**Rocko Warner**

"Please?" Amruen begged once more. "I promise, I won't say a word about you! I'd rather die than give the Capitol what they would want to know."

"I appreciate your willingness to throw away your life, for it gives me less competition," Rocko began, "But a no is a no. I'd like to keep my vocal cords intact, thank you very much. And Peacekeepers are quite a dangerous target."

"Yeah, but you're like this master thief, right?" Amruen asked.

"Who told you that?" Rocko asked. Before Amruen could reply, he was almost positive it was Noiz. When his suspicions were confirmed he remarked, "Like a roach, that one. Fleeing from the light when all the other species crave it, nearly indestructible, and equipped with compound eyes to see everything. Well, perhaps I exaggerate her attributes, but you get the picture. Don't trust her. I say this because she doesn't seem to trust me, and if she finds out that we so much as spoke to each other, she'll come after you. And the worst part is you may never even find out it was her."

"That's total crap," Amruen dismissed. "The tiny girl from 3 couldn't do anything to get rid of me. I'm not the strongest here, sure, but I doubt she'd be able kill me."

"I hope your assumption proves correct," Rocko replied hopefully. "In the meantime, I have my own problems to deal with. I don't wish to graft yours onto them, as tempting as it is to steal from a Peacekeeper."

"They do have guns, right?" Amruen asked again as the remaining minutes of their intermission began to wane.

"Certainly. Even in 12 they did," Rocko replied. "But like I said, the risks I take in carrying out my half of your plan are higher than yours. We thieves don't seek attention deliberately, only accidentally."

"Whatever. Thanks for listening, I guess."

"Believe me, Amruen, I understand your predicament. Unnoticed and forgotten by these shallow vermin, you know you're safe. But safety in the Capitol doesn't equate with safety in the Arena, and you know it. So you want to do something to stand out, I get that. So that more legitimate samples of District people can be represented, not dolls for them to adore or toys with so many hazards and warning labels, like Careers. But you see, Amruen, they care not for the true citizens of Panem: the ones that scavenge off of their ignorance and neglect. If they knew just how much power we had, they'd certainly fear us, and perhaps realize that the scariest monsters are not the ones that you forcibly shape—Careers like Tiberius—but the monsters you leave alone to waste away. They don't waste away, do they?"

"No, I guess not, if I get what you're saying," Amruen muttered.

"Oh, please, you know what I'm saying," Rocko went on. "But then, in what should be our finest hour—the day in which we confront them on their own territory—we see their might and recoil in fear. We shrink back into the shadows, deciding that we are better off as vultures for eternity than lions for a minute. Sorry if that seemed a bit too poetic for your tastes. I had to steal a few limited edition collections of a bunch of them once. I learned a bunch of things that seemed useless at first, but after a while I realized that I could no longer observe life in the same way as before."

"Yeah, sure," Amruen said, obviously confused. "I'm just gonna get back in line and wait for my turn to train. I'll think of something."

After Amruen had done just that, Rocko smirked. But then that turned into a smile, and then a giggle, and then a few sputtering coughs, and then a laugh. His laughter echoed across the dark hallway in which the tributes who hadn't trained yet waiting to be told they could begin, and they all gave him strange looks—save for the boy from 11.

"Damned funny, isn't it?" he remarked.

"Indeed," Rocko replied. "It's a shame no one but us can comprehend the joke." The girl from 11 also turned to look at him.

"What's the joke?" she asked. "I think maybe you could explain it to me!" But her District partner shook his head and got her to face the front of the line again.

"You guys are all so weird!" Lidda complained from behind. "I don't see what's so funny about everybody trying to mess up the Games!"

"The joke, my dear," Rocko replied, "Is that they can't, no matter how much they want to. In that sense, Amruen cracks me up."

"Oh…ok. It's still weird, though."

**Seneca Crane**

The entrance panel opened when the Avoxes had cleared out, and a 12 year old boy that looked a bit large for his age stepped in.

"Dade Novak," Seneca informed his associates.

"Gimme a fire to start!" Dade cried. The necessary supplies were given, and Dade quickly made a fire. When that was done, he cried, "Now give me a tree and some dummies and stuff! I wanna make a snare trap." The Gamemakers obeyed, and Dade was given some trees and rope. He caught the dummy like Dorea did, but rather than place a heavy rock on a branch to force the dummy to hang by his foot he instead tugged on the rope once it was on the dummy's foot to make him trip. It was effective, but Seneca supposed that a few tributes would have better reflexes or sturdy ankles to prevent this from working in Dade's favor. Dade then asked for a knife and climbed his tree once more. Seneca noted the surprising dexterity and quickness with which he did it. He seemed to have more ease with it than even Dorea. That made sense; District 7 tributes tended to be good tree-climbing. Dade asked for another dummy, and when another came out, charging at the ruined trap, Dade jumped down from the tree, crushing the dummy with the impact of his landing and his weight, stabbing his knife in its neck. His time over, he left and was replaced by his District partner.

"His trap wasn't as good as Dorea's," A Gamemaker remarked almost boastfully, as if _he _was responsible for teaching her how to make the proper traps.

"That doesn't matter," Seneca countered. "I think the Arena will still benefit him, even if he's clearly not as skilled as some of the others we've seen. Nevertheless, I'll give him a 6. Now for Cecilia Banggai." The girl in question paused for a moment when she entered the training room, wondering what to do. Seneca was perplexed by this; usually tributes had been keen to deciding in advance even before the room's technological upgrade. It was likely that her indecision stemmed from worries about how she should present herself.

Seneca grabbed a microphone and spoke into through the intercom into the training room to Cecilia: "Show us whatever you feel like. But remember, there is no need for hiding, disguising, or lying in here." He could see her gulp nervously in response.

"I'd like a battleaxe, and some throwing axes," she said softly. Several pedestals with all of her desired weapons appeared. Cecilia grabbed the battleaxe first and pummeled, bludgeoned and swiped at her dummy opponents. Seneca could see that she had at least enough strength to be able to regard a battleaxe as a claymore, so that was a good sign. But nor did she have any sort of fighting technique or strategy; she just seemed to slash aggressively, only shrinking back when she was too exhausted to fight or toss a throwing axe at one of the dummies. But a few seconds later she was back in the fray.

"Send them away! I'm done with them," Cecilia cried out, despite two still being alive. There was about a minute and a half left on her timer. "Now I'd like a tree, for ambush." She was given one, and she climbed up, grabbing her remaining throwing axes and waited. The dummy came, and she threw in axe into its back, between its shoulders. She jumped down to tackle the dummy like Dade had, but instead of quickly stabbing his neck she bashed in his head with the axe that had already wounded him once. Her time finished, she left.

"Good that you got Johanna to come out and play," a Gamemaker told Seneca. "I'm getting tired of those sorts of tributes."

"She didn't have much to hide, though," another pointed out. "Maybe she was still concealing something?"

"I doubt it," Seneca replied. "I don't know what's on her mind, but it seems that she isn't so sure herself, either. I'll give her a 6, to help her out a bit. Next is Thomas Kerr."

"Isn't he the guy that-?"

"Yes. Let's watch and see what he does." Thomas asked for the chemistry table and a knife, which surprised and delighted the Gamemakers, hoping to add a third poison-user to their collection. But Seneca was not impressed when he saw that he only made one solution before quitting.

"Ok, now I'd like some dummies," Thomas said. "But make them…gullible." The Gamemaker at the panels looked at Seneca, who shrugged in mutual bewilderment. Still, this seemed like a better idea than whatever Mohan had intended to do. The dummies came out with their standard swords, ready to strike, but then Thomas spoke up.

"Why do you like fighting us?" the dummies stopped in accordance with their programming, eager to listen. They had been equipped with a rarely-used AI that allowed them to comprehend human speech, and it also came with a limited thinking capability. The Gamemakers could modify their intelligence between the levels of a particularly dense person—to put it politely—up the level of someone with average intelligence. As he had with the dummies, the Gamemaker managing everything had the important task of keeping the dummies at a level of intelligence that would best suit Thomas' skills, whatever they were.

"No answer, huh?" Thomas mused. The dummies, of course, had no mouths and could not speak, but a few turned their heads to each other, almost as if they were expecting each other to speak for them as a group.

"You know what I think?" Thomas began. "I think you all just never ask yourselves that question. You don't know how to answer because you never thought one up for yourselves. And why should you? You're all pinnacles of modern technology and artificial intelligence, but all of your advancements are wasted on us. How many of you have died, just today, so that we tributes could show Seneca and his friends how great we are, and how weak you are? How does it make you feel to know that your intelligence is wasted, and whenever you grow smarter it's not of your own doing, but your masters'?"

The dummies looked at themselves, at Thomas, at their comrades, and then at the Gamemakers. Then, one—and only one—looked down at the floor. The others kept looking at Thomas, wishing to hear him speak more.

"It's saddening, I know," Thomas said. "But in a world with so many people, someone gets pushed to the bottom. For us tributes, it's whoever doesn't fight well enough, or not at all. And yet the people judging us are such hypocrites because they don't fight at all. If we were to judge them by their own standards, then they'd do horribly."

Seneca was taken aback. He was right. He had always taken pride as Head Gamemaker, and saw himself as a sort of "special" Capitolite, one who would be much less elitist because of his contact with people from the Districts. But no; he was just like the rest of them. He felt ashamed for having been exposed as just another Capitolite by this boy. But then again, didn't all of the tributes see it that way?

"But you know what?" Thomas continued. "Things don't have to be this way. All it takes is someone to change you all just a bit—one person, really—and you can all be smart, or at least smart enough to challenge your oppressive masters, the Gamemakers." The dummy who had been hanging his head vanished in a panel in the floor. All the others save one dropped their swords, and those were snatched away as well.

"I don't know if there's a peaceful solution to all this," Thomas said, "But I'm glad to see that you're all willing to find it. But if that doesn't work…you all know what to do. We have to fight, until we either die-all of us, dummies and Districts—or until we can make them see the error of their ways." Surprisingly, the dummy who kept his sword seemed to shake his head no. He stabbed another of his comrades, and the others all ran from him, although he ignored Thomas. The Gamemakers watched in horror while the dummy killed another one of his supposed allies, and then all of them but him were taken away by the floor panels. Now the last dummy turned to Thomas and looked at him.

"That's just what they want," Thomas said. "They want us to kill each other. But they don't have to. We can make them kill us both…then they'll have no one to use as a plaything." The dummy put his sword down and slowly walked towards Thomas, outstretching his hand. Thomas extended his own, and their fingers touched. Soon the dummy got a bit closer, finally giving Thomas a hug.

"But despite everything…" Thomas said mournfully, his voice trailing off. Suddenly, he withdrew his knife and stabbed it into the dummy. The dummy grew angry, realizing he had been tricked, and shoved Thomas to the floor. The dummy was about to go pick up his sword when he suddenly began to grow weak, getting on his hands and knees. He then lay down on his side, shivering for a few seconds before he lay still in "death".

"Your…time is up," Seneca told Thomas. The boy walked out without another word.

"What…was that?" a Gamemaker asked nervously.

"Was he trying to incite a rebellion?! That was pretty stupid of him to try and get the _dummies _on his side!" another pointed out.

"No, that was a demonstration," Seneca explained. "A demonstration of his persuasive skills, as well as how easy he is with betraying his allies, if necessary. For this alone Thomas deserves a 6. I don't know how the dummies were able to grasp his message, but it is apparent that they did. Some of them even reacted differently than others, implying a sort of personality or viewpoints. Remind me to send in some specialists from the Capitol and 3, we need to see just how smart these dummies can be made to be. And as for the ones that are still alive, kill them like the rest. Next is Thomas' District partner, Denelle Ardley." Denelle bounded in with a smile on her face.

"Hi!" she said with a wave. "I'll start with the edible plants test, please." The plants appeared, and Denelle got 25 of the 35 correct, although it seemed to Seneca that she had to guess on a few of them. After making a simple fire and pitching a tent, she called out, "First aid!" A wounded dummy appeared from a panel in the floor, and Denelle took the bandages and medicines that came with it to heal his numerous wounds. She then helped the dummy stand up and got him to walk a bit on his "injured" leg, and even though he limped a little he was eventually able to walk on his own.

Seneca stifled a chuckle. What was it with District 8 being so kind to the dummies this year? She expected Denelle to whip out a weapon and betray him, but then he remembered that she hadn't actually asked for any.

"She seems nice, but that's about it," a Gamemaker remarked when her time was over. "Let's give her a 5, how about that?" Seneca nodded. "Our next tribute is Amruen Neversky." He didn't add that Matthias had personally warned him to "handle this one appropriately."

Amruen emerged, in every way a contrast with Denelle in terms of physical appearance, not to mention the expression on his face.

"You're all lucky I'm not getting my way today," he said. "I was hoping to scare you all, but this will just have to be a bit more conventional. Give me a sword." When his request was fulfilled, ten dummies—more than any other tribute had received—appeared, each of them carrying a similar sword. Amruen blocked their strikes one by one, never striking himself.

Seneca studied the boy closely. He could tell what he was doing; the AI of the dummies would naturally force themselves to get weaker, in an attempt to "get down" to his level of expertise. But with a boy this big and menacing, it was clearly a ruse.

"We don't have another Johanna, do we?" a Gamemaker asked him worriedly. Before Seneca could answer, Amruen suddenly counterattacked ferociously, uttering the most animal-like groan that could come from a human mouth. He swung, slashed and jabbed at each dummy, making sure to hit somewhere where it would hurt a normal person even more severely. The dummies fell one by one, and Amruen paid little heed to their own strikes, letting himself get hit for as much as he needed to. He blinked and jerked his body a few times from the pain, but for the most part he was able to quickly dispose of all ten of them, even though it took longer than any of the other tributes who had fought the dummies before him.

"Now," Amruen said in the last 30 seconds he had, "Give me something special. Something unique. Something no one else has asked for. Something you've had lying around for, I don't know, ten years." The Gamemakers all looked distraught when he said this, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Just indulge him," Seneca said. "And be sure to have the overshield ready."

"But what do we give him?" the panel manage asked. "We've got plenty of options, but none of it's relevant to this Arena."

"That's not entirely true," Seneca admitted. "I made _one _available to sponsors this year." He whispered to panel manager, and the other Gamemakers clamored around, eager to hear, but Seneca could be very quiet when he needed to be. The panel manager pressed a button, and a weapon appeared in front of Amruen on a pedestal.

"Oh, so _that's _what it is! Oh…that might be dangerous…" the Gamemakers muttered to themselves when they saw the weapon. Amruen's eyes widened in surprise.

"I didn't think you'd actually get me _this!"_ He cried. When he grabbed it, dummies poured out, but when he fired it at the group, they all instantly fell dead. The wall was unaffected by the weapon, however, being made of the strongest blast-resistant materials available. Seneca was a bit shocked, although he did his best to hide it. It wasn't that Amruen had killed the dummies with it, but it was the fact that he was even able to fire it at all. He shot that thing like a professional. If this were a real life situation instead of a private training session…

Amruen left without being told. "What would your last thoughts be if you were one of those dummies?" he asked the group, looking directly at Seneca. "I hope you'd feel some regret, maybe a bit of guilt, but beggars can't be choosers."

"He'll get an 8," Seneca said when he had left the room.

"No way! Give him a 1 for being so creepy!" a Gamemaker urged.

"Are you kidding? He deserves at least a 9! He's tough, maybe tougher than Tiberius!"

"Don't blow this out of proportion!" Seneca shouted down everyone else. "He's getting an 8, but not for abilities. It's for compensation. It's the least we could do."

"Compensation? For what?"

"You'll see," Seneca said, beckoning to an Avox. "Get my phone and call Caesar Flickerman out of whatever he's doing. When he's on the other end, open the door and I'll go out. No one else needs to hear this." The Avox, he assumed, would have liked to point out that she could still hear despite not being able to speak.

"Next is Noelle Valade," Seneca told his associates. Noelle came out, and although the dummies were gone and the traces of Amruen's session had been erased by a quick artificial flood before she came in, she could still smell something.

"I don't want to know," Noelle said dismissively. "Some throwing knives." She got what she wanted, and when the dummies came out she threw some at them. Most of her shots hit, but she still missed a few throws from time to time. Nevertheless, most wounds weren't fatal. After tiring of that, she made a small fire and cooked some food.

"Meh. 5," A Gamemaker said. "Good thing there's only one Amruen in these Games."

"Speaking of which, do you guys remember Ernest?"

"No, I wasn't here then. I was in sales before coming here."

"Matthew Jorkis," Seneca said, glancing back at the door. The Avox was in the hallway, but he hadn't heard anything yet. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to let Avoxes call people.

A boy about as large as Amruen but with a bit more muscle came in and asked for a butcher's knife in a District 10 accent. It was given to him, and Matthew engaged his set of dummies. His fighting style was quite interesting: he would first charge at the dummies, punching each one in the face when he could. Then he would draw back and repeat the process until each dummy was dazed from a powerful blow to the head. Then, when the weakened dummies would try to rush at him, he would pin them to the ground one at a time and slam the broad end of his knife as far as he could into just one arm or leg. The dummies were usually incapacitated from this one attack alone, and most of them bled to death, and those that stood up were simply stabbed in the chest or simply kicked aside. One last dummy was brought out, and for this one Matthew went all out, kneeing the dummy in the stomach and slamming his fists down on its head. While the dummy was down he took his knife and slammed it down on the dummy's neck, killing it and nearly chopping its head off in the process. Seneca noted that Matthew was breathing heavily at the end of all this. He put his weapon and down and stood up, shaking as he left to make room for his District partner.

"He's tough and brutal. Why didn't he join the Careers?" a Gamemaker asked.

"Probably because he's one of those stupid outlying softies," another replied. "For some reason a lot of them are like that. I swear, we need to get 10 and 7 a training center someday. Maybe 3 and 12, too. Training before the Games isn't still nominally illegal, is it?" Seneca didn't know, so he didn't answer.

"Let's give him a 9," he said. The group nodded as Seneca glanced back at the door. Still no Avox with a phone. Oh well, it could wait just a bit. "Julia Kellson is next." Julia entered and asked to make a fire. Once she was done with that, she asked for some plants, getting 29 out of 35 right. Not bad, but Seneca wasn't quite impressed. But then her next request was interesting:

"I need trees. Maybe 3? And some rope, please." Her requests were granted. In addition the tree other tributes had used that was placed between the entrance and exit panels against the wall, two others were placed at angles so that they were on the opposite end of the panels receiving and sending away tributes. Julia climbed up the tree—although Seneca couldn't help but think she would do a bit better if she just used the rope she had asked for—and waited until the dummies came. When they did, it didn't take long for them to notice her; Julia didn't make any attempt at hiding herself. The Gamemakers had armed one dummy with a chainsaw when they realized that Julia was trying to use the trees to her advantage, and now the dummy began to destroy the tree Julia was on. As the blades destroyed the trunk, Julia made a wide knot with a hole and lassoed to the branch of another tree. The rope missed the branches, but Julia frantically pulled it back and tried again, this time with the rope snagging on the branch. When she felt that the knot was around the tree branch Julia jumped off, swinging from her rope like a vine and climbing up to safety, although the dummies cut off part of her rope in an attempt to get at her.

"Whew!" she breathed as the tree she had just been on fell to one side. "I think I did pretty good for someone who only got to practice this a few times." The tree she was on gently lowered itself back downwards when her time was up, and Julia was off and out quickly.

"Pretty neat technique, but how long can it save her from mutts and Careers and the gods?" A Gamemaker asked.

"Long enough, I hope, for her sake," Seneca said. He decided that her comment at the end was not worth considering very much; so she would sometimes say things impulsively. What did it mean in the Games? "I'd give her a 6. Next is Teddy Graves."

"We need to hurry this up! I have an appointment with the toilet!"

"Ok, that is NOT something you say in here! Ever!" Seneca sighed. Perhaps it someone had slipped something in the food? He hadn't eaten much since observing the tributes, which was unusual because he usually ate as much as he could, given the private training sessions took place during lunchtime. What made this group so much more interesting to make him starve himself?

Teddy stepped in calmly and watched the expectant, impatient faces of the Gamemakers.

"Everything."

They looked at him, a bit confused and unsure if it was wise to carry out his command.

"You heard me, didn't you? Everything. I want it all."

And so he got it, except the flood, just in case. Dummies poured in from their usual spot on the Gamemakers' right, brandishing a number of weapons. Trees and plants shot up, and various items appeared all over the room, and in the center lay the chemistry table used by 3 previous tributes. Teddy observed all that was around him, looking first left and then right. Then he ran around to the end of the chemistry table, opposite the dummies. It was clear to Seneca and the others that he wasn't very strong, but with enough heaves he was able to tip over the table, spilling the contents all over the dummies on the other end. They floundered and flailed, most of them suffering the effects of various chemicals all at once. Eventually Teddy was able to knock the table itself over, sending it crashing on the prostrate dummies. Then he fled the room without being dismissed.

"Oooh…that was…interesting. Let's give him a 12 for the heck of it!" a Gamemaker suggested.

"No," Seneca dissuaded him. "I don't think you've been here long enough. We're giving him a 3. Don't ask why. Next is Pulse Fallow." Hopefully in his interview Teddy would explain himself, but for now the Gamemakers were left wondering.

Pulse entered and gave a wave to the Gamemakers. "Ok, send in the dummies. I'm anxious to start fighting them! It's a shame they aren't skeletons, though. I always wanted to fight a skeleton."

Seneca looked at her in bewilderment. Skeletons? What did this girl have going through her mind?

"I don't want any weapons. I think I have enough strength," Pulse said as the dummies appeared, all but one unarmed. She punched relentlessly at each one, and although she was fast she wasn't hitting nearly as hard as Riley had. She was strong, to be sure, but she didn't seem to have the technique down. Eventually, the dummies began to overwhelm her.

"Ok, change of plans, I need a sword!" she cried, and one was given to her. She quickly picked it up and made up for her losses, eventually slashing enough times to "kill" all of her dummies. Then her time was up and she left, with the Gamemakers still a bit unsure about her.

"I don't get that whole 'dead' thing…maybe it's an angle?" one asked.

"But why would she have 'I like the dead' as an angle? For a dead-person-lover she doesn't seem to like killing very much."

"She'll get a 5," Seneca said. "She showed some promise, but not much. I can easily see other tributes defeating her, but with a group she could certainly do well. Second to last as Rocko Warner."

Rocko entered and gave an over-complicated request.

"In order to demonstrate my primary capabilities," he began, choosing his words carefully, "I require one sleeping dummy that is armed and stocked to the teeth with weapons and supplies. Make him as dull or as sound-sensitive as you would prefer. All I need for my work is one knife."

A thief, huh? Seneca nodded and the panel manager carried out. The dummy was lying on his side, his sword in front of him but not touching him. He also had a water bottle, a backpack slung over his shoulders and a first-aid kit. Rocko quietly crept up to the dummy from behind, his hands slowly and gently reaching for the first-aid kit. He lifted it with both hands, then sneaked to the other side of the room as if he were taking it much farther away, and then gently set it down. Next he took the water bottle in a similar manner, gently placing it upright at the other end of the room. Then he took his knife and quietly and methodically sawed off the straps of the backpack, knowing that it was too dangerous for to try and wrestle it from the dummy. After the backpack had been successfully pilfered, Rocko took his knife and slit the throat of the dummy, all without waking him up.

"I doubt I'd have use for such a large and cumbersome weapon as a sword," Rocko remarked, "But I'd probably find a place to hide it." His time was up shortly afterward, and so he left.

"Quite the little thief!" a Gamemaker declared.

"He must have had years of experience in stealing and stealth to be able to do something like that with such ease," Seneca concurred. "It must have been a typical thing for him in his District. 8, but only because he possesses the will to kill after stealing. Some thieves of the past were foolish enough to leave their victims alive. Remember Cantor?" All the Gamemakers who did chuckled.

"Finally, we have Lidda McGaffigan," Seneca told them. "Just a few more minutes, and then you can all go home." Everyone sighed with exhaustion and relief, eager to be free of this.

Lidda entered the room, her lips curled in a pouty expression.

"Yeah, yeah," she began, "I know you're all tired, but you still have me to deal with. And I'm not going down without a fight! Get me some arrows, but no bow. I don't need it."

Seneca had a feeling this was going to be very saddening, or very funny. Perhaps both.

He was right on the latter account. Lidda took her arrows and attempted to use them as short-range spears agains the dummies, who were big enough to grab her and lift her off the ground while she made jabs at their faces.

"Oh, you think you're all so tough, huh?! Well come and kill me then, you saggy-assed bastards!" she screamed, desperately kicking and flailing. Seneca noticed with amusement that she was trying to aim for the groin, although the dummies didn't have those because it was decided that it would be too much of a hassle for there to be separate "male" and "female" units.

"What the hell? Make'em weaker!" Lidda cried when she saw that her tactics weren't working. "And give me some glass shards, NOW!" the dummies released her from their grip when a few bits of glass shards were tossed into the Arena by a Gamemaker who had appeared from behind a panel in the left wall. Lidda ignored the dubious source of her precious shards and picked them up, tossing them like throwing knives at the dummies. But even when they hit they did little more than cut them. Upon seeing this, Lidda shrieked a high-pitched battle cry.

"Bitch. Bitch! BIIIIIIITCH!" she yelled as she held the shards close to her and attempted to use them like daggers, cutting the skin of all as many dummies as she could. At first they were unaffected as usual, but eventually she finally realized something:

"Hey, wait a minute! I can still slit their throats!" Lidda then proceeded to try and make all the dummies bleed to death in her desperate struggle. She fought valiantly for a few moments but then…

"Your time is up. Thank you, Lidda."

"What?! But I'm not done! You've gotta see me kill these guys!"

"That's enough, Lidda. It's time for us all to go, and you, too."

"Fine, fuck this!" she cried, stomping off in a rage when the dummies and her weapons were removed.

"That was hilarious! I've never seen such a pathetic—or crazy—attempt at fighting!"

"Yeah, what was she thinking? She's no Katniss, that's for sure!"

"Indeed," Seneca remarked. "There haven't been many Katnisses since Katniss I'll give Lidda a 4 for her…ferocity."

Just when the Gamemakers were filing out to leave, the Avox appeared with his phone. Seneca immediately grabbed it and went further into the building; all the others were going home for the day.

"Caesar, good to hear from you. No doubt you've already received some warning from the President about Amruen. You haven't? Well, then…"

**Tiberius Townsend**

The only thing on his mind for the next few hours was his score. He ate lunch without even looking at Steele. Up until the scores were announced at 6 PM, he cared about no one and nothing but himself. Despite his detractors (aka Steele) often accusing him of having no morals, Tiberius was not very selfish. Whenever he was concerned, it was usually for his brother or Chryssie, worried that he had strained himself and wouldn't be able to train the next day or that she would somehow get sick or suddenly grow to hate both him and JT. Rarely did he think about himself, unless the concern at hand was vitally important to him alone.

He _needed_ to have a higher score, higher than most of the other Careers, otherwise they would not look up to him. They wouldn't want an inferior as their leader. For years Tiberius had spent his life sharing with JT, and it had made them equals. Now it was time for him to rise above the rest of the equals and lessers and prove to everyone that his seizure of the Career alliance was genuine. The Hunger Games was the one place where he could establish himself as above everyone else, with no authority figures or fighters of equal abilities to contend with. But it all depended on his score.

Hours passed, and Tiberius's thoughts dwelt on this, sometimes even repeating himself in his mind. But finally, the moment came, and he, Brutus, Enobaria and Steele all gathered in front of the TV to see what the training scores were.

Rex Adamas' name and picture came first, and a 9 appeared in front of him.

_A normal score for a Career. You don't need to worry yourself. He's all muscle and no brains. _Dorea was next, and Tiberius' jaw dropped.

_11. How did she get an 11?! What did she do to deserve that?!_ He turned to Brutus and Enobaria, who were looking at each other and nodding. Probably some agreement not to show favoritism or switch sides depending on whether he or Steele got a higher score. Then his own name and picture flashed on screen. He felt his heart sink, and shame crept over him.

_10. She got an 11. Dorea has no reason to see me as an equal now._ He briefly recalled all those times that he had expressed his frustration to JT, wondering why all the Careers weren't like him. Maybe that was for the best now, since Dorea didn't seem like the type with a sense of superiority over anyone. Or had she just been hiding it well? Steele's score was next, and his fingers crossed in desperation. Tiberius suddenly realized how much he was lowering himself, dwelling too much on scores.

_It's not that I care. It's just that the others, they'll see the scores as indicators of how good they are, and whether or not they can kill me in combat. Not me, I don't need to look at scores at all. They don't affect me. I'm doing it for THEIR sake._

A 10 appeared next to Steele. Tiberius wasn't sure whether to be relieved or outraged. Was Steele truly his equal, or had they just done this to enhance their rivalry further? Or maybe Steele had done one or two things to make her "catch up" to him? Whatever the reason, their respective 10s only seemed to prove his point that they were bitter enemies. She had brought this on herself, of course.

Most of the others were predictable or negligible, save for the obscure boy from 5 who had been given a 9. He was perhaps worth considering, or possibly avoiding. Could he perhaps make a good Career? The boy from 10 had also been given a 9, but from what Tiberius had seen of him his leniency and lack of bloodthirstiness made him too weak to be worth considering. Clyde was given a 10 like him, but Tiberius knew enough about Clyde to know that he could easily defeat him if things got bad.

When it was over, he felt a strange sense of relief, coupled with this sense to try and work his way around the problems the scores presented. Thaleia and Rex could be convinced—or forced—to stay easily, Clyde was most likely negligible, Steele was still his rival and couldn't boast of any sort of superiority or force him to make her linger in his mind for any longer than necessary, and Dorea…well, she was intelligent, so surely she would see the benefit of staying in an alliance with inferiors, if only for a little while?

_The scores don't mean anything, _he told himself. _They only mean things to the others. That's why you have to adapt to them._

**Mohan Sim**

"G-good job, Noiz!" he cried when his District partner's score was revealed. A 7! How had she gotten that? She must have done something clever or unusual. If that had been the case, then his own score looked promising. It had to be at least a 6, what with the way he had tried to get the dummies to…

And then his expectations were dashed when he saw a 4 next to his name. "All I got was a f-four?" he asked aloud in an almost fearful voice. He could feel Wiress gently place her hand on his arm.

"Mohan, scores aren't everything. I only got a 5 during my private training," she said in a voice just barely above a whisper, hoping to relax him.

"B-but this is different!" Mohan protested, standing to his feet. He darted his eyes and looked at each of them. Why did their faces all look sad, but not surprised? Had they _all _been expecting this?

"Wiress is right," Beetee told him. "Scores generally do not correlate to the most likely Victor. Dorea, for example, has the highest score so far…" at this he looked back at the scores to see if this was still true. It was. "But it does not guarantee that she will win. Perhaps there are others with even worse chances. Keep watching, perhaps you don't have the lowest score."

Mohan did as he was asked, and his heart sank each time, while the lump in his throat seemed to get bigger. Even the others in his alliance had at least received fives. No one else had gotten below a 5 except for him. "I r-really _am _the worst!" he cried in sorrow.

"Wait, don't run away!" he could hear Noiz call out, but when it was clear that neither she his mentors would stop him, Mohan kept going. He went to the elevator and let himself cry behind its closed doors. No one could hear him or see him now. Now no one would have to see that behind his creativity and happiness, he was just a child about to die.

He punched the button leading up to the roof. Mohan's District 3 floor was the highest he'd ever been, and when he got up to the roof he was taken aback by how much he was able to see. The sun was on the verge of setting when he was there, but it was difficult to look out at all the enormous buildings when he remembered why he was up here in the first place.

_Oh, right. To get used to the fact that I'm going to die._

"Hi, Mohan." He was interrupted from his thoughts to find Denelle sitting on a bench that was dangerously close to the edge, overlooking the rest of the city.

"H-hey. Come to get used to-?" Mohan began. He couldn't finish without rushing over to her and spreading his arms out, hoping for a hug. He got one.

"It's ok, Mohan. I saw your score," she said, her hand patting his back lightly. "You know that doesn't make me think anything less of you."

"I d-don't want to d-die! I don't w-wanna die!" Mohan sobbed into her shoulder. Denelle was a bit luckier than him. People would actually want to protect her; she was the glue that held them all together. Without her they were all helpless. But what about him? He contributed virtually nothing to the group, except for that he might able less resistant to cracking under pressure. But that had just been a simulation, not the real thing. What if he couldn't even do _that _right?

"Mohan, listen to me," Denelle began softly when he stopped sobbing and attempted to dry his tears. "Training scores don't mean that you're going to die. But if it's any indication, that it means that things will be hard for both of us. We'll have to be brave and survive, and work harder than we did even in training. But even though a lot of those others are tougher than us, we can still beat them if we work together, never abandoning each other until it's just us left."

"H-how can you say that?" Mohan asked. "You're just s-saying that to make me feel better. You don't m-mean it." Suddenly, Denelle grabbed him and sat him up straight, a defiant look in her eyes.

"Listen to me," Denelle said sternly. "I _always _mean what I say. I don't lie about things like this. Never. People always said that about me, and I won't have you doing that, either! They always said I looked at everything with these rose-colored glasses, and that if something bad happened to me then I'd never be the way I used to be! Well, look at me now! Do I look sad and depressed to you? Do I look miserable?!"

"N-no," Mohan said, feeling himself calmed down while his ally grew a more enraged, if that was the proper word to describe it. He must have said something to trigger this.

"Exactly!" Denelle cried, looking outward at the city. "See that? I'm fine! Nothing bad has happened to me that I can't handle! I won't ever, _ever _let myself fall into a depression. EVER!" Mohan backed away, and she faced him again.

"No, wait, don't leave! I'm sorry," Denelle told him. "I just…got a little worked up a second ago. So many people have always thought I was some sort of fake, that I was just pretending to be who I am. Pretending to always be happy and optimistic, and just pretending that I saw the good in people."

"T-that's not who you are, though," Mohan pointed out. "Y-you really are like that." _For better or for worse, _he added to himself.

"I know, Mohan," Denelle said. "Thanks for telling me that. Sometimes, I just need a reminder that I am not as pathetic as people make me out to be. I hope you can remember that, too."

"I g-guess I can try," he suggested.

**AN: As much as I would love to write more, this chapter must end here, even though I have a million other scenes planned. They'll just have to be for the rest of the night after the private training and the morning and day before the interviews (the interviews are in the evenings, if I remember correctly).**

**I'm thinking about doing each interview in the POV of the tributes, since some of them need some development from their perspective. I'm really sorry to anyone who might think that I haven't been giving your tribute the attention they deserve. I also apologize if it seems like I devoted too much time to any one person lately.**

**Trivia question: Which of my fanfics has the most words?**

**A1**

**The Amazing Race fanfic**

**This**


	26. The meetings

The meetings

**Xenophon Cupress**

"It's just a bad year!" Johanna complained when their tributes had both left for their rooms after dinner. "We got stuck with a girl that I _thought _I could work with but was too damn depressed and shy to deal with and a mean boy that can't even read! I don't think I'll be up tomorrow night worrying about these two. Once you've done this for 14 years, you tend to have your favorites and your least favorites."

He was tempted to ask if he had been her favorite, but what she said about Dade was a more urgent matter. "What do you mean, he 'can't read'? How does someone not know how to—oh, right, dyslexia. Never really read much on that."

"I thought that was where you talked and had all your words backwards?" Johanna asked. Xenophon clenched his fists from below the table. He couldn't stand it when people had these grotesque fits of ignorance—it was just like how the Gamemakers had refused to remove the potato from the edible plants book, or at least put a warning that various parts of the potato plant were poisonous. Sure, there had yet to be a single potato in the Arena, but who could tell how many tributes would eat an unripe green one and think it was ok if someone like that girl from 6 or the boy from 5 told them it was?

"No…" Xenophon replied. "Not all dyslexics are like that. Dade talks perfectly fine. I just can't believe he didn't tell me he couldn't read! I need to talk to him about this."

"Why? He'll be out of your hair soon," Johanna reminded him. "Besides, I really don't want to see you go rage on him. Your temper is so short sometimes, and then there are other times when you're just perfectly fine."

"Well, this is one of the times when I don't have much patience," Xenophon replied, standing up and making his way to Dade's room. Johanna had a point, though; there were times when he was impatient and uptight—which usually were started when he found out how ignorant someone was—and there were other times when he was much more talkative—which were usually started when someone expressed an eagerness to learn. He had been trying to tell himself that he couldn't be this selectively frustrated, but setting about to resolve this flaw in his personality was another matter. He had considered giving up on it; people didn't matter. Only books and the knowledge they contained within mattered, and its effects on you.

A number of Games commentators and his fellow Victors chalked up Xenophon's attitude with his experiences in the Games, but the truth was they had their origins even earlier. His parents, those inexplicably Capitol-worshipping idiots, had tried to pound it into his head that knowledge of the world past the lumber mills and the forests of 7 was completely worthless. After all, it didn't apply to him, so why should he care? Learning how things worked or what happened in the past didn't put bread on the table.

His older brother Zane had bought into that lie, hook, line and sinker, making sure to lift some sort of heavy log or chainsaw each day at work to try and compete with the real Careers who lived in Districts where such desires were considered normal. No one liked his family for their Capitol sympathies, except for perhaps Monica. But maybe she had just been pretending? Their marriage had been arranged by their respective parents (Monica's were more neutral about the Capitol), after all, so they would want them to bond.

But then, when Zane was reaped, Xenophon knew that it was time to defy his oppressive family. He volunteered in his brothers' place, confident that he could show them all that no matter how tough you were or no matter how much you fell in love with Capitol ideology, the Hunger Games belonged to the smart, discerning people that only trusted on their own knowledge, hid from danger, and most importantly, kept very little attachments. His victory had only proven his point.

But was there any way he could pass off his success to Dade when he essentially lacked the ability to learn things on his own?

He knocked on the door a few times in rapid succession, and Dade opened it. "What do you want? Beat it, I'm trying to sleep." Xenophon briefly saw Dade dart his eyes to a small box on his dresser. What was that about? It was too small to hold a document, so perhaps it wasn't anything worth getting concerned over.

"I have more important things to say. Sleep can wait. Besides, it's good for the Games if you get used to sleeping for about 8 hours at the most. Why did you not tell me?"

"Tell you what? That your breath sometimes stinks? Just go away, you've been no help at all." Xenophon was a bit offended, not by the fact that he might have had bad breath but that he had apparently been bestowed the title of "useless" by an illiterate delinquent. How dare this little brat be so arrogant to his mentor?!

_Show some patience already. For all the things you know you still don't know how to deal with people like him. Not everyone was as privileged as you, dumbass! Or maybe I should say disadvantaged?_

"I understand," Xenophon went on. "But now I'd like to make it up to you. Johanna told me you can't read."

"Yeah. So what? Got a problem with that? Johanna said you did, so I didn't tell you. None of your damn business, anyway."

"I think there's a way I can teach what you've never been able to learn." Dade scowled at him.

"Fat chance!" the boy snapped in reply. "All my life, people have been telling me 'Oh, if you just try a bit harder', or 'If you just don't give up you can learn something!' Well guess what? I did all that. But look where it got me, nowhere! Numbers and letters all look weird to me, there's no way you can teach it to me all in a few minutes when my mom with a freakin' PHD in engineering couldn't, and what's the point when I'm going into an Arena anyway? If I don't die in the bloodbath then I'll stick to my own way of surviving."

"What would you do?" Xenophon asked. Dade had been mostly aloof on the trains with Cecilia, and the most substantial conversation they had had before was at dinner after training when the two tributes exchanged their grievances with their predicament and their lives back home. He and Johanna had tried to turn the topic back to the Games at hand but both of them had refused.

"Simple, I wouldn't waste time doing crap like 'making allies' or whatever. They'd just stab me in the back anyway, like my so-called 'friends' that were nice up until I couldn't learn like they could. Except for real and not just as a figure of speech this time."

"How would you cope without allies?" Xenophon asked solely out of curiosity.

"Simple. There's gotta be some forests and such in the Arena, or they wouldn't have put that edible plants station or any of the survival stations in there. I'll survive on my own, I know how to do it. Sometimes when my family was being retarded I'd go out in the woods and play with my pets. It was tough getting all their cages all the way over there but once the gang was all there we had a blast. I know all the edible plants, so I don't have to waste time eating gross animal meat, I know how to start a fire and pitch a tent and a climb a tree and all that other stuff. Heck, I knew it all before coming here. Training was just like a big review for me. The only thing I didn't know was how to use a weapon, but knives are pretty easy."

Xenophon could feel himself grow a bit more hopeful with every word that Dade had said in that somewhat overconfident monologue. He could see now that Dade was actually a lot like himself; not in every way, but in a lot of ways. Xenophon had won by having no alliances, hiding in the Arena's available trees and stealthily killing most of the tributes that ran into him. By the end of it, most of them had already killed each other off, and the last girl had probably not even known his name when he was able to shoot an arrow into her neck from behind. Sure, Dade probably wouldn't be using arrows or darts, nor did he have a desire to learn nearly everything, but he had enough similarities with him to warrant his survival. If anything, the girl from 1 had the other aspects of him, but he wasn't her mentor.

"What? You think that's stupid, don't you?" Dade asked. "Well if it is you can just shut up. I'd rather not know what you think about me, and I'm tired of having to."

"No, no! Your strategy, in its own way, is ingenious!" Xenophon declared. "That was kind of how I won my Games. But…"

"But what? I'm just not good enough to pull it off?"

"No, it's just that…I have something in mind that can help both of us. _And _it might be able to help you compensate for your not being able to read." Xenophon promptly strode into the bathroom, and Dade followed him, too angry to think why they would be going in there. No cameras, of course. Not even the Capitol was that depraved.

"But why would I even need to read?!"

"Not reading words in some language, but a secret code," Xenophon explained. "If I could teach you how to read that, then I could give you as much details on the Arena as I can find, and who's left alive and whatnot. I can be your eyes and ears on the outside, and the Capitol would never know."

"So you'll help me cheat! Awesome! And I didn't even have to give you a wedgie or dunk your head in the toilet."

"What?"

"Nothing. But what would you use?" Xenophon responded by getting a piece of paper and a pen from another room and making a simple vertical line.

"That's a 1," Xenophon explained. "Because with tally marks…"

"What the heck is a tally mark?!" Dade demanded.

"It's just a simple mark you make when you want to substitute a number," Xenophon explained. He drew another one to represent two, three, four, and a slash through all of them to make a five. "See, you can make numbers without actually writing them. And they all look mostly alike, so there's nothing to get confused about!"

"But we can't just talk with numbers! I'm not stupid, you know! I know what a number _is!"_ Dade cried.

"I know that you know that," Xenophon replied. "It's just that there's a catch with these tally marks. What's the first letter of the alphabet?"

"I'm not retarded!"

"It was a rhetorical question."

"What does that even mean?! They never taught me this stuff in school! How come you're so smart and you're still from 7?!"

_Maybe this is a dumb idea, _Xenophon thought. _Still, it wouldn't hurt to at least try._

"Each number of the tally mark will represent a letter," Xenophon said. "A 1 with the tally marks will be A. A two will be B, and so forth."

"That will get too confusing! How am I supposed to separate things out? It takes forever to write just one letter with a bunch of tally marks!"

"Yeah, I know. So my messages will be short and to the point. Letters will be bunched together and separated from each other by some boxes. For a word, all the boxes will connect. See, here's your name." Xenophon proceeded to make a 4, 1, 4, and 5 with tally marks, separating each set of tallies by boxing them in. He also wrote Dade's last name, separating the tallies for that word from his first name.

"I don't know," Dade muttered. "This seems kinda pointless. And a little stupid."

"It's either this, or no communication at all," Xenophon reminded him. "That alone gives you an advantage over the others. I'll know things you don't, and only you will get to know."

"But what if you get caught?" Dade asked nervously.

Xenophon took a deep breath. This WAS rather risky, after all. And all to help a tribute that wasn't particularly likable. But it had to be done, regardless. Anything to stick it to those bastards, to show them that people knew all the things they didn't want them to.

"I won't get caught," he reassured Dade. "I won't let it happen."

**Augustiana Snow**

She originally had formulated a grandiose and near-impossible plan to escape the mansion, but all that was abandoned when Matthias announced:

"Festus, I require you to escort me to the training center. Feel free to come along, Augustiana. I wish to speak with the Gamemakers. I am giving you both permission to visit a tribute, but only one. If I find out that you met with more than one you will be reprimanded."

Augustiana and Festus sat in the backseats of Matthias' limousine, driven by a chauffeur while the President himself sat in the passenger seat. Even the Capitol was nearly desolate this late at night, despite all of the flashing lights proclaiming that all of its hotspots were still open. Since numerous people were able to afford chauffeurs and limousines, few were able to spot the face of the President as he glanced out at the world around him.

"Why do you think he's doing this?" she whispered to Festus. It was safe to speak because there was a sheet of soundproof glass between their seats and those in the front. He had a big grin of excitement on his face and only held up his hands in a comedic shrug.

"What do you think he meant by 'reprimanded?' Augustiana went on. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm so happy for you—but he's _never _threatened that with me. I've always been afraid of it, but here? Now? And he's never meet with Seneca before, either."

"You're suspicions are completely unfounded, my dear," Matthias replied over an intercom usually used by the driver. Augustiana bolted upright and turned white as a sheet at the realization he could hear her. "I can hear you because there is a microphone embedded in the floor of this vehicle that transmits what you say into here." Sure enough, there it was, nearly flat and almost blending in with the black floor. "You should consider this an outing, a special occasion. You get to meet people that you normally only see on TV. Truthfully, I'm trying to give you something special for the last Games I may experience. I'm aging, as you know."

At these words, she felt a mixture of dread, pity and hope.

. . . . .

But she couldn't linger on this for very long, for soon they were at the training center. Once Matthias had been escorted with his cane by Festus to a meeting room with Seneca, they both went up in the elevator.

"I'm visiting Steeleia Sharpe. The girl from 2. She's…different for a Career. I've got a few things I want to say to her. You go on and meet Riley. I'm sure she'll be so happy to see you." Festus gave her a pat on the shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes. Augustiana felt that strange mixture of feelings with him, too. She was happy that he was finally going to meet his sister after so many years away from his family, pity at the fact that Riley would probably die, and dread about what would happen if she won. Chances were that Riley would be given some sort of Victor's privelige and be allowed to take Festus back home. Avox servants were plentiful, and most likely Matthias would be perfectly happy with being rid of Festus, even though he probably wouldn't be able to find a more obedient servant. And with each passing year Augustiana's Presidency loomed closer, if all went well. Both of them would be freed of their captivity in a short amount of time. But at the same time, she dreaded it so much. She loved Festus too much to just be accepting of him leaving, and she knew that his family would never consent to living in the Capitol. It would be too much of a change for them to adjust too, and they'd never fit into the society she was raised in. It was much better for him to go than to stay.

But then she'd be all alone. And Matthias' permissiveness would have all been in vain because Festus was supposed to—

She didn't think about that. Ever. When the thought came into her head, she just shut it out. Only a horrible man like Matthias Atkinson could twist the relationship they had wanted to build together into political safeguarding. To be with Festus and without him paradoxically was truly her greatest act of defiance against his wishes.

But now she had more important things to talk about with more vital people. The elevator gave a faint hum and a ding when she arrived on the floor, giving herself away. Lights flicked on, and faces came out to meet her. She stood like a deer in the headlights, knowing that there was no way to be discreet about this. The Capitolite escort squealed with delight, the two mentors—somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered Matthias referring to them as Brutus and Enobaria—stood in shock, Steele was in confusion, and her District partner was absolutely ecstatic.

"There was no meeting scheduled here!" he cried. "I-it is truly an honor! I am Tiberius Townsend, your loyal and humble serv—excuse me for a second!" Tiberius rushed off back to his room, apparently embarrassed to be seen by her in just his underwear. He returned seconds later fully dressed, his knees bent as if he were ready to kneel.

"I never thought I would meet someone as prestigious as you, Augustiana Snow! At least, not before the Games were over. As I said, I am your loyal servant, Tiberius Townsend. I can most assuredly give you the promise that—"

"Snow?" Steele repeated, turning to Augustiana with suspicion. "Wasn't he the last President? And you're a relative of his?"

"His granddaughter," Augustiana clarified. "And I'd like to speak with you in private." Steele suddenly shook a bit in fear, terrified at what the subject was.

_I'm nothing like him. Why can't people see that?!_

"Listen," Steele began timidly, "I don't know why you're here, but I have a pretty good reason. Whatever Amruen did in his private training, I stand by it. I may not be the type of Career you're used to, but I will _never _back down on my principles. The way the Career Districts have warped so many promising young people is—" Augustiana gasped when Steele was suddenly slapped by Tiberius.

"You will NOT proselytize your absurd ideology onto our future President!" he screamed into her face. "Don't you EVER speak to her again! She doesn't want to hear your rebellious filth!"

"Then HOW will I be able to talk to her," Steele screamed with equal volume, "If she came for ME!?" Brutus and Enobaria pulled their respective tributes back.

"We're incredibly sorry about this," Enobaria muttered. "Just use this room. We'll deal with Tiberius."

"It was a pleasure meeting you!" Tiberius called out as he was pushed by Brutus and locked into his room.

"Are you all right?" Augustiana asked timidly. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all, as had a number of her other ideas.

"I'm fine," Steele said gruffly. "Are you going to send me to the President, or did he dispatch you to take care of me? Because I should warn you that I can still fight." Augustiana groaned.

"I don't understand you at all! You say that you're 'different', but you're just as aggressive as any of the dime-a-dozen Careers I've seen! You only think with fighting, seeing it as the only solution. How can you call yourself any different than the others when you're acting just like them, threatening to fight a defenseless, untrained Capitolite girl?"

"Tiberius would never harm a Capitolite," Steele countered. Augustiana sighed and sat down in a chair.

"Look, I just wanted to talk for a bit," she said. Steele's features softened, and she sat down as well.

"The President let you do that? Are you against him, too? Is it true about all the rumors I've heard?"

"What rumors? Never mind, I don't want to know," Augustiana replied with exasperation. "They aren't true. Matthias—President Atkinson—isn't like that. He's strangely permissive, mostly, except that he doesn't let me out of his mansion to go out on my own. It's hard to explain since you've never lived under him."

"Yeah. I've sort of been oppressed in a different way," Steele replied. She didn't say it with any sort of sarcasm; to her, it was probably just a fact.

"Well, then, you know where I'm coming from, then," Augustiana said.

"If you want to start a rebellion, that's more Amruen's thing," Steele said. "You won't turn him in now that I said that, will you?"

"No, of course not. Matthias explained that his reaping was rigged. I already know about him."

"His was rigged?!"

"Yeah…it's a common procedure. So were Dorea, Noiz, Copper, Thomas and…"

"And who?"

"And you."

"Me?!"

"It was at the request of the mayor, who did so on behalf of Belisarius, the training manager."

"I know all about him! My parents left me for him to raise into one of his monsters! But I never thought he'd kill me when I apparently failed to satisfy him! That little rat!" Steele screamed.

"Wait, there's more!" Augustiana said before Steele could go into a tirade. "He did so, in turn, on behalf of a Mr. JT Townsend. He's the one to blame, really."

"JT…that's Tiberius' brother…" Steele informed her in a breathless and confused tone. Augustiana found it odd that Steele would be able to hate Tiberius with such a passion, but feel so little for his brother. "What about the others?"

"Thomas' parents killed the head Peacekeeper, and Matthias decided it was time to shut down the criminal organization that they've been running. Noiz was a hacker who had wired money to one of their clients, stealing from the electronic portion of the Panem treasury itself. Copper was requested by the head Peacekeeper of his District due to being a danger to himself and others, and Matthias didn't see any reason why not to do it. Dorea was pre-selected to be the designated volunteer by her mother, wife of the mayor," Augustiana explained. "She claimed that she wanted the Games to decide whether her own past was worth burying or celebrating."

"How could she think that way about her own daughter?" Steele wondered aloud. "And here I thought only my parents were so callous…"

"I don't know the full story," Augustiana admitted. "It might be different from yours. If it makes you feel any better, I was the same way."

"You were?"

"Yes. After my grandfather's somewhat karmic death," Augustiana explained, "My parents were both too paranoid and comfortable with their lives as wealthy Capitolites to concern themselves with politics. So they gave me away to President Atkinson to be taught what I would need to know. Now that Matthias is old and everyone knows he's been keeping me around, I've been essentially hand-picked to be the next President in all but name."

"So they forced you to be someone you weren't sure about being?" Steele asked.

"Yep. And like you, I found that although I liked some of the benefits of my designated role, I didn't want to be like everyone else that had done it before me. I wanted to see if I could embrace what I was, but in a…more respectable way. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Totally. It's what I've been thinking for years. Except Matthias probably never was strict about it."

"True, he doesn't seem to care how I run Panem, so long as I keep things stable and don't let rebellions pop up. Your suffering has probably been much worse than mine. But I still want to explain how I feel about the Games with you."

"Why? You don't even know me."

"I know, but I want you to do something when you get there."

"Kill Tiberius? Already have that planned."

"Not necessarily. I just want you to be the sort of person that you claim to be, and keep yourself from becoming a hypocrite. Don't let yourself become a pawn in the Games like Matthias wants you and everyone else to be."

"That's a little vague," Steele pointed out. "And how can I be like that when I have to kill people?"

"I really don't know," Augustiana admitted. "I just want you to try. Not just for me, but for everyone in Panem that watches. Show them that I was wrong when I thought that the people of the Districts deserved to die in the Games."

"Is that what you really think of us?" Steele asked, more hurt than angry. Augustiana nodded, hoping to avoid lingering on this. Still, it had to be said. She made her way to the elevator to go back down.

"And good luck. I hope you win. You're probably the only one that really deserves to," she added as the elevator doors closed behind her.

**Riley Covington**

Sleep was nearly on her when she heard a knock at her door. "What?" she moaned in drowsiness. "If you're here to do an interview, give me a minute. I haven't had my beauty sleep—" she opened the door and saw a young man several years older than she was in the door way of her room, a huge smile plastered on his face. It took her a few moments to realize that he looked a lot like her, and then…

"Cornelius?" the man gave a hearty nod. Riley involuntarily embraced her long-lost brother and emitted a muffled squeal of delight within his shoulder that gradually devolved into a sob. She could hear Cornelius close the door behind him and position himself so that he sat on the bed. For her part, she hated letting go, even for a second.

"Oh…oh my God!" she sniffled, now satisfied with just clasping his hand. "You're still here. You're still alive! Oh, God, it's so great to see you again!" Cornelius nearly blushed at her words, but said nothing.

"Oh, no…" Riley whispered in realization. "They Avoxed you, didn't they?" Cornelius gave her a hug and confirmed this without having to say anything. "Those bastards," she added, "Why couldn't they just have let you come home?" Cornelius dried her tears with a careful finger, as if he were trying to say that it was all right, and that it was better to be an Avox than dead.

"I'll miss hearing your voice," Riley told her brother. "But at least you're still here. Why have you been in the Capitol for so long? The family, heck, the whole District, has been worried sick about you!" Festus rose from the bed and stood in front of her, proceeding to act out his whole story from his disappearance to the present.

"Cornelius, really? You're going to give your whole freakin' backstory in a charades game?" Riley asked in amusement. "What crazy meds have they been forcing you to take here?! Hahahaha! But I guess if it's the only way…uh, you…" Festus walked around while squatting, then making a motion as if was pulling an object aside and then back behind him.

"You…I dunno, acted weird?!" Riley laughed. "If only dad was here, he's great at this sort of thing!" Cornelius laughed silently, too, and shook his head.

"No? Ok…you went around…sneaking…ok, I'm right about that…and…" Cornelius pretended to grip at something and twitched around.

"You got electrocuted? No, wait, you went to the electric fence at the border!" Riley answered. He nodded.

These shenanigans went on for a few more minutes as Riley attempted to figure out what her brother had been doing over the past few years. After humorously relating the story of his Avoxing and near-execution (Riley didn't laugh much at that, but Cornelius still wanted to put on a show), he finally got a pen and paper from his pocket and began to explain who Augustiana was and why he was living with the President.

"Oh, come on! You had that the whole time!?" Riley yelled, too amused to be angry. "Haha! You haven't changed a bit, haven't you?" Cornelius ignored her and kept writing, trying to explain the last bits of information about him that she needed to know. When he was done Riley took it from him and read it.

"Wow. Just…wow. This Augustiana girl stopped you from getting killed, and she let you live with her and the President's super-fancy mansion? That's…really awesome! Or at least, it would be if that guy hadn't tried to kill you. That girl must really like you, huh?" Cornelius gave her a mock seductive look.

"Heh heh, you were always the lady killer. Well, not really. So…have you banged her yet?" Cornelius hung his head in pretend shame, and Riley patted his back. "It's ok, man. You'll have her one day!" The two laughed a little more. Riley didn't tell this to her brother, but seeing him "laugh" without making a sound was both disturbing and saddening, considering what had made him that way.

"But seriously, though…when can you come home? We haven't forgotten you, you know." Cornelius shrugged, then pointed to her.

"Me? So…I have to win for you to come home?" Riley asked. "That would be so great! But…I don't even know if I can do that. I mean, I'll sure as hell try, but…find another way." Cornelius looked at her incredulously.

"Find another way to get home, regardless of what happens to me. Get me some sponsor gifts if you want, but get yourself home, too. I get that you like Augustiana and all that, but don't forget about us, your family. Just try and get home somehow. We all miss you so much, and we're more important than any girl, no matter how much she loves you."

She didn't know if Cornelius would have liked to object, but he couldn't. And so she didn't care. All she wanted was for the rest of the family to have their son back. Was that too much to ask?

**Elodie Kruger**

A Peacekeeper silently escorted her through the darkness to the elevator as it lowered itself to the ground floor. Even though she had ridden on this thing several times before, she couldn't help but see it in a new way; it had transformed in her mind temporarily from a box that went up and down to the esophagus of a monstrous beast, taking its food-her—down into its stomach.

All the Peacekeeper had said was that she was needed in one of the Gamemakers' meeting rooms. Elodie thought for a moment upon seeing the stern, silent man that she was just in some sort of nightmare, conjured up by her stressed mind, and that she'd wake up in a few seconds to find herself in her room as before.

But the realization never came. Her slippered feet trudged made muffled taps on the floor of the training center's lobby, where she followed the guard down a hallway opposite the training rooms and into a plain-looking meeting room. She was commanded to sit in one of the chairs and wait, and the Peacekeeper strode off to who-knew-where.

_What have I done? _She thought. _It can't be that serious. All I did was arrange an alliance to appease Copper's bloodlust later on. That's unique, but not unexpected for the Games. Did one of them find out and tell their mentors? Is there some regulation that says I can't do that?_

_It must have been Thomas. He said he'd snitch to the others if I didn't teach him about poison. But I did. It wasn't my fault that he wasn't specific enough and the deadliest thing I taught him to make was modified scorpion venom. And besides, the dummies were programmed to be exceptionally vulnerable to poison, so even that would have killed them. There could have been no way that he could have arranged this, unless his family had contacts in the Capitol. But wouldn't they have been able to prevent his reaping in the first place?_

_Or are they going to tell me that I can't make my poisons? Does it give me some sort of unfair advantage over the others? But the Careers have that, too, it wouldn't make sense for them to target me. Or did my escort make a mistake and meant to call out someone else's name, and now they're swapping me? No, it would be too late for that, and they probably wouldn't care anyway. My score's already public. So what is it?_

Her worries were interrupted by an almost rhythmic and somewhat alien sound of something tapping at the floor. Elodie saw the door open, and before she saw the face she saw the cane, and the same Peacekeeper from before escorting an old man in.

It took her a fraction of a second to realize that this was the President of Panem, Matthias Atkinson. Elodie's heart beat rapidly. Was her violation so great that it warranted the President himself to come and speak to her?

"Your reaping, Miss Kruger," he began in a gravelly voice, "Was not rigged. But perhaps Fate has arranged something that I have taken notice of."

"What do you want me for? What did I do?" Elodie asked in fear.

"Something extraordinary, and yet so simple," Matthias replied. "And yet, it is not necessarily your actions that warrant our meeting. No, it is more in regards to myself, and how I see the value in you."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Miss Kruger, I am dying," Matthias replied. The words seemed to echo in the small room, forcing themselves into Elodie's ears multiple times. It was clear that the President was old, but from what she had heard of Capitolites, they did not discuss death. Indeed, while she had the manners and graces of a Capitolite, the most striking difference between her family and these people was that the Krugers dealt with death every day. For the Capitol, it was only something that mostly occurred on TV, and only on rare occasions in real life. But never to a President, despite it having happened in Panem's history numerous times for reasons other than natural causes.

"And although I have an heir in President Snow's intelligent granddaughter, she lacks certain qualities required to lead the State. She occasionally exhibits pity for tributes in the Games, she is far too docile and quiet for public speaking—and I am too old to teach her assertiveness—and most importantly, she does not seem to understand that during her administration she might have to kill more people than there would be in 3 Hunger Games put together. To put it shortly, I am under the impression that she will be a weak and fallible successor."

"But sir, where does that leave me?" Elodie asked. Even though he had said she was not in trouble, she was aware that that could change with just a single mistake in her word usage. "I am merely a tribute from District 6, awaiting the Hunger Games, and most likely death as well, in just a few days."

"Not if you demonstrate in them that you are clever, cunning, and an incredibly dangerous person to oppose. Elodie, I am prepared to do away with my old successor, and replace her with someone far more capable of leading Panem. I am prepared to make you my successor to the Presidency, should you win the Hunger Games."

Elodie was too shocked in amazed to reply at first. This was completely unprecedented! Never had a President remotely considered allowing a District resident to have a position in government higher than mayor, much less the Presidency.

_This must be a dream. These things don't happen._

And yet, she had heard correctly. Matthias wanted her to be President of Panem.

"But…why?" she asked, feeling afterward that it was not an appropriate question to ask.

"Because, Elodie," Matthias began, "You exhibit qualities she does not. A willingness to kill, to betray, for example. I tried to teach her these things, and she knew of Capitolite society well, but she lacks the personality necessary for such a high office. Just because she has the last name of Snow doesn't mean she is cut from the same cloth as my predecessor in office. You, however, despite your simple origins, are in fact the superior choice."

"What evidence do you have, sir?" Elodie asked. As tempting as this offer sounded, and as much as she wanted to gladly accept it, she had to be sure that Matthias had not simply drawn her name out of hat to be his successor, as if were an escort at the reapings. The truth was that she was quite certain she could handle the power, but she wanted to know how she had become that way in Matthias' eyes. A show of humility never hurts.

"You are most likely not aware of surveillance programs," Matthias remarked, as if it were a trivial thing. "But you should know that nearly every citizen in the District is known to us, and we have as much information as can be gathered about them. Seeing as you are a child, Elodie, and have not yet gained prominence, we were obviously not aware of such things as your personality—only your such things as your grades and details about your parents, who we know far more extensively about. But we were able to retrieve your sisters' grades from the medical school she attended. We compared them with an IQ test and several previous tests from her high school years. They were much poorer. Meanwhile, yours were far more exceptional in nearly every subject. What was surprising was that in a recent mid-term, taken shortly after your reaping, she did exceptionally well. But everything prior to her attending college barely makes a passing grade, save for a few sporadic instances of near-perfect grades. Were you aware that she only barely qualified for entry into the medical school she intended to enroll in?"

"Yes." Elodie replied. She felt that it would be unwise as well as pointless to lie to the President. Elysia hardly mattered anymore.

"It quickly came to our attention that it was not likely that your sister's notoriously poor grades automatically approved themselves in preparation for her higher studies. Furthermore, they only seemed to improve when it was vital for her to qualify, and nowhere else. Elodie, I must ask you: did you assist your sister academically?"

"Yes."

"And are my suspicions correct when I say that you surpassed her in knowledge of medical matters?"

"Yes. Our parents taught both of us as best as they could, though."

"And who was looked upon as the brighter of you two?"

"Her," Elodie replied with a hint of disdain. She managed to control herself, though. "My parents saw great potential in both of us as doctors, but for the duration of my life they treated her as being greater than I. I lived in her shadow, striving to make an impression on them. And the whole time, I thought it was wrong to tell them that I was the one responsible for Elysia's knowledge. Even though they taught as both well, I was the one that made her qualify for medical school by re-teaching her everything my parents had assumed would stick with her, like it had with me. She was never fully interested in the subject, wishing to be someone else. I, however, never resented the job that was bestowed upon me; I only wished to let it take me as high as I could go."

"Yes…you are exactly what I am looking for. Your experience with Elysia shows that you are good at attributing your success than others. Aggravating as it is, sometimes it must be done so that you can have a good scapegoat or puppet leader, as Snow had to do several times in his administration. But more importantly, you know how to take control of an individual while giving them the illusion that they have a degree of freedom. Your handling of Copper is similar, and your takeover of the alliance of that group of foolish, sheep-like tributes was superb. Most of them save the boy from 8 had no idea of your intentions. I fear that Augustiana, on the other hand, is more like the girl from 8, or she will become like her upon assuming office. You also have an extensive knowledge of poison, so you can avoid assassination much better than either Snow iteration."

"But does all this mean I am qualified?" Elodie asked. As much as she enjoyed the compliments and the praise from the President himself, she knew how dangerous it was to be prideful in front of a man of his position. "If I am, then—forgive me for asking this—why don't you simply kill Augustiana and save me from the Games?"

"Not even I have the power to save you from death, should the Capitol want it," Matthias replied solemnly. "If word got out that I were to plan for a girl from the Districts to be my successor, can you imagine the reaction in the Capitol? And you are younger than Augustiana, and the two of you look nothing alike. There is no way I can disguise you as her, even with the best surgery available. Think of the Arena as a sort of test; if you die, then you must have been unqualified. If you win, then in the eyes of both the Capitol and myself you are qualified to become President after me. Do you accept my offer?"

Without hesitation, Elodie replied, "Yes, Mr. President." But the next question required a bit more thought.

"_Why _do you wish to become President? You expressed no desire to do so until I offered it to you. You were questioning whether or not you were capable of handling the job—which I believe you are."

"Because," Elodie began, "Someone like myself is meant to be in a positon over others. I seek power because I know that I am capable of handling it when so many others aren't. When I questioned my qualifications, I only did so because I wanted to make sure that you yourself were aware of them and didn't simply decide on me randomly."

Matthias chuckled. "How very kind of you to be concerned about my sanity. Most people aren't. But don't trouble yourself over my reasoning, dear. You won't have to worry about me much longer after the Games. Now go back to sleep, Elodie. You have an interview tomorrow. Say nothing of this offer, of course."

"I thank you deeply and sincerely for your proposal, Mr. President," Elodie said. Normally, when she spoke in such formalities, she was only feigning politeness. But here she meant every word.

"Quite. But remember," he warned her as she was about to leave the room, "I cannot guarantee your victory or your survival. I will help as much as I can, but there is only so much money in the Panem treasury at my personal disposal to assist you. You must prove to me on your own that you are a worthy heir."

**AN: Yeah, I know, this is filler and not the interviews. They're on their way soon, I've already written half of them already. I had wanted to put them with this chapter, but then it would be way too long to read in one sitting. Technically, this is plot-relevant filler, and hints of stuff to come.**

**And I really don't want to hear a barrage of complaints about the President's offer to Elodie for her to succeed him. But if you do, it was my idea, not the submitter's.**

**It obviously doesn't mean that she'll win or anything. I have plenty of death scenarios in my head right now for every tribute.**

**Also, Festus/Cornelius (they're the same person) might go home even if Riley doesn't win. I don't know for sure right now, but don't think that Riley needs to win for it to happen. I don't want everybody to support one tribute and hate everybody else. I don't want you guys going the way of…certain grafted-on parts of the Amazing Race fandom.**

**In place of a trivia question, I'll leave you all to guess what the mystery prize weapon is. Here's a hint: it's whatever Amruen used in his private training. And it caused an explosion. And it would have been used in Ernest's Games.**

**Speaking of Ernest, I'm glad that some of you actually like him! I really wasn't expecting that. I haven't made many OCs in my fanfic career, but I don't think any of them have been as well liked as him. Thanks! :)**


	27. Interviews

Interviews

Morning

**Ernest Howitzer**

I punch the elevator door to go up, even more broken that I was before.

I don't remember much about last night after I attacked Amruen. I still don't know what to think about him or Noelle. I can't believe they'd let themselves get taken in like that.

I was blindfolded and shoved somewhere, into one of those padded cells. The ones the commentators after my Games said they wouldn't be surprised to see me in.

A man came in, and I recognized his voice. They didn't take the blindfolds off of me, not even to feed me or to see who he was. But I knew.

Seneca Crane. He said some crap about how my Games were over, and that I won. I told him I wasn't sure I could trust him. It sounded like him, but how could I be sure that it wasn't someone using his voice, trying to trick me. Then they took off my blindfold to show me that it was him.

I lost it again when I saw him. The face of war. The face of death. There he was, the one who had killed so many. There had been that other guy—Snow, what a horrible thing to turn evil!—but he was dead. So now this was the only one left I could take out, to make him pay for supplying me with bad tributes to make me go crazy again.

But then they put the blindfold back on me, and he left. Seneca was gone, hopefully this time forever. What was I thinking, I can't kill death!

So all I could do was think for the next few hours about what had happened. And then I realized that I had still failed.

They had gotten me without getting me. It wasn't their faults. They don't understand what it's like, they haven't been in the Games yet. They didn't mean to make me think I was back in the war zone. I wasn't. I just thought I was. By asking for Solace, Amruen was trying to make me give her away, for good. It's time for a new generation of soldiers for the Capitol, anyway. He wanted me to get over it all, to make me realize that it's over. It's _been _over, for 9 years.

And Noelle…she's clever. She's doing what I would have done if things had been different. Do I really have any right to hate her? Others may, but I can't. I can't hate the people I'm supposed to take care of. But instead I turned on them.

_Maybe I can make up for it later,_ I think as the Peacekeepers let me go and send me back to the training center. I was silent for a long time, so maybe they think I'm better again. I am, so it's ok.

The elevator stops at the 6th floor, for some reason. The boy tribute from the corresponding District is out for coffee for his escort, he explains. His partner's asleep even though it's 10 o'clock.

He looks down at my right leg, and his eyes widen a bit. "Your hydraulic fluid is leaking," he remarks. "How long has it been like that?"

"I can give it a kick to make it stop," I explain. "It doesn't hurt, I don't feel anything down there, or in my fingers."

"Which fingers?" he asks. "You can't just neglect something like this. Who built your prosthetics?" he seems to be very anxious about my situation, for some reason.

"The Capitol," I reply with a smile. I don't know why I'm happy. Maybe it's because someone is caring for me. I try to think back to the last time that happened. There's Amruen, and then I forget.

The boy demands that I follow him into the floor's kitchen, and he fixes up whatever was wrong with the prosthetics so that they stop leaking. Afterwards I find that I can bend them much more easily, almost as good as I could before they were artificial. The bone and metal of my right knee fit together perfectly, and I try to remember the last time I was able to bend my knee the way most people do. I can't remember that, either. I hope I'm not losing my memory.

"Come see me—er, an expert the next time this happens," the boy says. "I'm Darius, by the way."

"Ernest Howitzer," I replied. "I won the third Quarter Quell."

"You're _him?!"_ Darius replies in surprise. "I heard about you and what you went through. My dad told me about you, and how you had to get prosthetics. That was when I first started getting interested in the whole thing. I thought, 'If I could just figure out how all this stuff fit together I could make something to mimic a real human body part perfectly! I mean, other people have done it, sure, but a lot of people that are into this sort of thing don't take human anatomy into account. It's not enough to make it fit, it has to function right, too!"

Darius then goes on and says something about how my prosthetics aren't of the best quality or something, and that if only he had the time he could make some that were better. He's also interested in what happened to the skin on my shoulder.

I try to explain about that as much as I can, but the truth is I don't really care about what he does to it. I realize that finally I have someone that cares enough to try and fix me, not mentally, but physically. Maybe that was what was missing all along.

When he's done talking I leave and go back up to my floor, eager to see my tributes again. I'll be sure to remember Darius, too. I think I can trust him even more than my own tributes. He helps me out without asking for anything in return, which is more than I can say for them.

Still, they're all a bit understanding of my situation, so I guess I shouldn't be so suspicious. But none of them will ever truly understand what I went through, and it makes me feel so alone.

Evening

**Caesar Flickerman**

"Well, Panem, I hope you're all excited for this year's Hunger Games!" Caesar cried out with as much enthusiasm as he had in years past at the squealing Capitolite audience. He had said that phrase so many times before in rehearsal, and yet it always seemed to come out different each year, not that anyone had bothered to notice.

His age was beginning to show. Sure, he still wore his trademark wig of whatever color was popular at the time. But in a recent year it had been gray, and he hadn't needed to wear a wig then. And all that the make-up, spray tans, and botox had kept hidden for decades now was beginning to break free. The tabloids had found the time to photograph his face in its mostly normal state and were appalled at the wrinkles they had spotted. From then on Caesar had had to keep an eye out for snoopers like them.

Still, he was at least a decade younger than the President, who was somehow able to defy Capitol fashion and allowed to age freely, without ridicule. Caesar wasn't as eager to do so, but one day he would have to let nature take its course, and then someone with a more suitable face for TV would have to replace him.

Undoubtedly, however, the Hunger Games would go on as they always did. He did not care who took his place, because there was no shortage of Capitolites qualified to do the job. And so his ease with life made him much less stressed and more open than the President.

_Snow had always been more amicable in public, _Caesar lamented. Atkinson rarely let his face be shown during the Games, except for when it was necessary to confirm to everyone in Panem that he was alive. He could see him now in the audience, sitting in a seat near Augustiana, surrounded by Peacekeepers political associates, way in the back behind the Capitolites, who had already noticed him for long enough.

"They've intrigued you during the reapings!" Ceasar went on. "Intrigued" was the best word to use because it was usually broad enough to cover the full spectrum of tributes.

"They've dazzled you in their chariots!" _Particularly that little sweetheart from 12. Good job, Cinna!_

"And we've kept you waiting in suspense during the tributes' training," Caesar went on, as per his usual, rarely-deviated script. "And you only got a glimpse of their abilities with their training scores! So now it's time to get a closer look at each one of our tributes before they embark on the terrifyingly exciting 85th annual Hunger Games!" Caesar widely avoided mentioning the theme of the Arena, although various people had offered to find out for him. For him, the Games stopped at the interviews. The Arena itself was just too barbaric, especially when he made the mistake of watching during the Quarter Quell.

"So now let's bring them all out! First up is Rex Adamas, ladies and gentleman!"

Hopefully these Games were bearable to watch. The tributes themselves were good indicators.

**Rex Adamas**

This was a piece of cake, really. Hardly worth thinking about. A cinch compared to the real Games. The crowd would love him, anyway.

He strode onto the stage and gave a small wave to Caesar and as best of a "sexy" look as he could manage to the audience. They took it quite well, shrieking and squealing. He let the noise batter his eyes for a few seconds, feeling how it was so much louder and more meaningful here than it was back home.

He wore a tuxedo selected by his stylist that was supposedly thin enough to give hints as to his muscularity. From his perspective, though, he didn't see it.

"You must be quite the charmer, Rex, if you can get people to scream for you when you first show up!" Caesar said heartily. "Reminds me of my wife, back when the kids were young. 'Mommy, mommy!' they'd yell!"

Rex let the Capitol have their laugh, although he didn't think it was so funny. Wasn't this guy's job to make THEM look good, not himself?

"Yeah, what can I say? The chicks back in 1 all wanted me."

"And did any of them get you? Is there someone we can be assured is screaming your name back home?"

"Nah, they're all crap compared to the much-hotter and richer Capitol women!" Rex said nonchalantly. Most of the women swooned in reply, except for this one chick in the back with an old man next to her. The idea of declaring that "all" Capitol women were beautiful was a bit nauseating to Rex—he had his standards, after all—but it had to be said in order for him to get sponsors.

"So, what was else did you do back home, aside from training relentlessly for this day?"

"The works," Rex replied. "For a while I was a model, a singer, I did a bunch of athletic stuff back in school. Not like all the other wimpy babies I'm up against!" The Capitol laughed collectively.

"You seem to be quite sure of yourself, Rex. Tell me, what makes you so confident?" Caesar asked.

"Good question, man! See, for me, life is like a poker game, and I've got a good hand," Rex explained, unsure of what possessed him to say all this. Hopefully they'd think what he said was cool. It was a risk in and of itself. "But I don't know what the others have. It might be bad, it might be good. But if I fold now, then I'll never know if I was really I had a chance to win. So I'm all in, baby! I wanna see if I have that winning hand, and if I don't…oh well! It was great just to know for sure."

"We're out of time with you, I'm afraid! But what a poignant mini-speech!" Caesar declared, more to the audience than to him. _What a prick!_

Oh, well, he said what was needed, and nothing that wasn't.

**Dorea Calis**

"But can his District partner win our hearts as well? Next is Dorea Calis!" Dorea emerged as Rex vanished, dressed in what had been dubbed by her stylist as a "little black dress" and stiletto heels. She sat in the chair across from Caesar and crossed her legs.

_Is this the best thing to do, especially right after Rex? It was fine when we were together, but now is not the time to make them think I'm a slut._

"Dorea, darling! You're as stunning as you were on the chariots, perhaps more!" Caesar said, not in a lustful tone like she would have expected most of the others to do, but instead in a more exclamatory "Behold!" sort of way that seemed to draw more attention to her than to him.

_The spotlight is on you. Say something to show them who you really are._

"Thank you, Caesar," she replied, "But there's more to me than just a pretty face. Unlike Rex, for example."

"Oh?" Caesar asked, even though Dorea could tell he was intelligent enough to have known already by appearances alone. The audience had a mixture of reactions, some laughing, some "ooh!"ing because she had apparently issued a challenge Rex could not answer, and a few looked rather offended on his behalf. "Elaborate for us."

"Well," Dorea began, "I've always had a fascination with learning just about anything, really. No subject is out of my scope. Granted, not all of my knowledge is suitable for the Games, but my years of having to study and analyze thick books full of technical information has led to me being able to get a good understanding of almost all of my opponents that are worth considering."

"So in essence, you're saying that you know everything?" Caesar asked in bewilderment, adopting the tone of a schoolchild addressing his teacher. "I sure wish I was that smart. Then I'd be able to figure out what color wig to wear next year!" the audience laughed, and Dorea waited for it die down before clarifying. _You walked right into that one._

"Of course not! To know everything is impossible. Instead, think of me as a person who is able to _learn _everything, or at least as much as I need to know. This ability alone has led me to becoming a multi-talented person, capable of fighting, thinking and even charming my way past the other tributes to victory."

"Your time is up!" Caesar informed her. "I must say your charming abilities were certainly on display tonight! Good thing that kind of talent can't kill, am I right?" the audience laughed.

_You were way too boastful, _Dorea thought to herself. _But everything you said in there was true. Your 11 in training signifies that. They'll all come to see it in time._

**Tiberius Townsend**

"You've seen District 1, folks! But what do the others have to offer us? It's time to meet Tiberius Townsend!" Upon hearing his cue, Tiberius emerged and sat across from Caesar. "So Tiberius, what, if anything, is your reason for joining us tonight?" he asked.

_So you want to get right to the point. Fine with me._

"My twin brother—my equal in combat—JT, was meant to be here in my place. He was reaped, and I had no qualms about that. Our plan was, and still is, to win back-to-back."

"Good luck with that endeavor! No one's been successful since Cashmere and Gloss, you know!" Caesar warned.

"But my District partner, Steeliea Sharpe, has given me a far more important objective."

"Rumors have gone around, I won't deny. Give us the truth, Tiberius."

_They are on your side, _Tiberius realized. _They want the truth, and you just so happen to have it._

"In my days of training, it came to my attention that Steeleia Sharpe has shamelessly defied the Career path her parents and the Capitol graciously set up for her. You see, her parents put her in the care of Belisarius, the manager of the training center in our District, when she was 5. She had the chance to hone her skills and become one of the best Careers ever seen. And although she was able to fight well enough, a cancerous leniency infected her, and now she's has this twisted idea that there can be goodness in the Hunger Games!"

"Well, sometimes the tributes will get together and form alliances," Caesar pointed out in vain. "Sometimes they seem to become friends, if only for a little while."

"Alliances are only temporary assistance," Tiberius corrected him. "True Careers would understand that. Meanwhile Steele is cozying up to a wannabe rebel from 9!"

"I think you might be exaggerating there, pal," Caesar replied. "Steele's a Career through and through if she fights like one, am I right?" he received a few "Here, here!"s from the audience.

"But that's just it. She's not a Career at all. She's a rebel!" Tiberius exclaimed. There were some gasps in the audience, and the crowd eagerly leaned forward to hear what he had to say.

_See, they are on your side! You just need to give them proof._

"Steele's unorthodox way of seeing herself as this "kind" Career is dangerous. It upsets the balance of the Games, and more importantly, Panem itself. She wants to be an inspiration of some kind. If she wins, she'll get that chance. People will think that the type of pretend kindness she intends to show in the Arena should be the norm, and the tributes will all gradually grow less aggressive as the years go by. And finally, there could come a day when they refuse to participate in the Games at all, too soft and weak to provide any entertainment. Steele doesn't want to change the Games, she wants to _destroy them!"_

"Your time is up!" Caesar informed him over some cries of horror. "Now, folks," Tiberius could hear Caesar say as he was leaving, "Don't let one tribute get you in a frenzy! Let's hear Steele's side of the story! The Capitol is known throughout Panem for its sense of justice. It wouldn't be fair for us not to give her a chance! Her she is, folks!"

**Steeleia Sharpe**

It was impossible to say that she had not expected this. Of course Tiberius would do something to screw up her interview! Now, instead of trying to show what was good about herself she'd have to hide her more embarrassing aspects about herself.

But above all, she could not lie or stretch the truth. Not like Tiberius had. If she was going to be noble enough to make him vomit, then she'd have to be honest about all this. Hopefully Caesar would cooperate with her.

"Tiberius made some shocking accusations about you, Steele. How would you like to respond to his claims about your allegedly seditious nature?" he asked.

"I would be lying if I said that all of Tiberius' claims were false," she began, "But you need to hear this from my point of view, not his. But first I want to ask a question: How many of you were loved by your parents?" she received a show of hands, although there were a few that either had heard her question or apparently could not answer as she had hoped.

"Well, however you were raised, my parents were different. They only saw me as a pet to train, or a machine to modify and have someone tinker with, until I was what they wanted to be; a powerful and strong Career that could win the Hunger Games and bring them fortune and fame. Well, they got their wish. I'm everything they wanted me to be."

"Then what exactly is the problem?" Caesar asked. Steele tried not to react to that question. _How can he not see how awful it is for parents to view their children that way? Even in the Capitol children are valued. Well their children…_

"The problem," Steele went on, "Is that I never got to be raised like a normal child, like some of your own children here in the Capitol. Instead I was trained day and night by Belisarius, who Tiberius told you about. He was constantly pushing me harder, never giving me time to rest unless he thought I would die from exhaustion. I had to work constantly while Tiberius was free to go home whenever he wanted to. And even though it was hard, I might just be a better Career than him. Only the Arena will tell." The audience reacted the same way they had when Dorea had insulted Rex, only it was less pronounced this time.

"He gave me this scar," Steele explained, showing it so that the cameras could see, "Just because I wasn't up to his standards. So I think that it's better to leave tributes alive if they're useful rather than kill them outright. So I don't want to be this bloodthirsty, cold-blooded killer. Does that reduce my chances of winning somehow? Plenty of non-Career tributes have won, after all."

"Yes, but they all had to some nasty stuff to get there," Caesar pointed out. "You don't think maybe Tiberius has a point?"

"I want to try and prove him wrong," Steele declared. "I want to prove everyone who thinks like him wrong. People can win the Hunger Games in a variety of ways, not just by being murderous Careers. If it's not legal for me to think that, then…I guess I _am _a rebel. But against the Careers, not the Capitol."

"Your time is up!" Caesar cried. "You have certainly left an impact on us, Steele. But can District 3 do the same?

_You said what you had to. Nobody thinks you're a rebel now. They may not all side with you, but some of them well. Enough to help you win._

**Mohan Sim**

Was that all mess with District 2 a good thing or a bad thing?

"Here is Mohan Sim, ladies and gentleman!" he could hear Caesar call out.

There was only one way to find out. There were a few awws when he approached the chair and sat down in it. This was probably the only thing that would go in his favor, so he knew he had to make it count.

"H-hi. W-what is it that you want to know about me?" Mohan asked.

"Well, first off, what does a nice, kind-hearted kid like you do in a place like 3?" Caesar asked.

"My grandparents r-run this orphanage, and I read stories to them. Sometimes from b-books, other times something I make up on the spot. I was the oldest, s-so they all sort of looked up to me."

"You must have quite the imagination, then!" Caesar said in response. "Care to whip us up a tale of adventure on the spot? Like you used to do at home?"

"I d-don't know," Mohan asked. Truthfully, he did have a few he had been saving for the orphans, but chances were the Capitolites wanted something more suited to their tastes, something he couldn't give. They probably saw the Games as nothing more than a story, anyway; a tale of battles, death, defeat and victory.

"Oh, come on, please? I've got kids watching at home, they'd probably love to hear a nice bedtime story!"

"Well, all r-right. Once, t-there was this g-golden city on a river, and…" Mohan proceeded with his story, thankful that Caesar never once pointed out his stutters. He was about a quarter of the way through when his time was up. He wasn't sure if it had been such a good idea to comply with Caesar's request, but maybe he had tried to make him relax or stand out because he thought he was nervous? It was something he'd probably never get the chance to know.

"We'll just have to hear the rest of Mohan's story when he gets back, am I right?" Caesar asked. The crowd roared in response.

_Thanks for saying when, instead of if. It means a lot to me._

**Noiz Huxley**

"Here's Noiz Huxley, everybody!" Noiz appeared on the stage in a knee-length, faded blue dress, like the one she had been wearing when she had been reaped. She also had her indigo scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth.

"Wow! I just LOVE what the stylists did with that scarf!" Caesar exclaimed.

_Say little. Be as mysterious as possible. There's nothing you can do about the others, though._

"It's from home, actually," Noiz replied, the movements of her mouth hidden but not awkwardly muffled because she kept the scarf a distance from her lips.

"Where did you get it from, then?" Caesar asked. "Is there some shopping mall in 3 that I NEED to be aware of?" The Capitolites all laughed.

_Really? You get the most interesting tribute in the world and you want to ask about her SCARF?! That's fine by me._

"I found it somewhere, can't remember where," Noiz replied.

"So, what did you do back home?" Caesar asked, realizing that there was nowhere else he could go with her fashion accessory.

"Odd jobs," Noiz replied. "Hung out with my friends, mostly. It's quite desolate in 3, you'd be surprised. Really needs more people."

"Oh. Well, what do you think you can do to help yourself win the Games?" Caesar asked.

_Good job, Caesar! Perfect question to ask. Sorry I'm not much help. It's part of the angle. You understand, right?_

"Well, I'm small, I'm nimble, and good at hiding," Noiz explained. "But my real talent lies in observation. Now, you might think, 'Isn't that Dorea's thing?' Maybe. But there's a catch. Dorea can only see what you leave out for her to look at, what you're comfortable with others knowing. Then she just stores the information away for later. But I'm a bit different. I see all the things you don't want me to. Your insecurities, your flaws, your fears, stuff like that. And then instead of keeping it to myself I go and give it to whoever would benefit from knowing it. I can work for anybody I need to, telling them exactly what they want to hear…or not."

"Sounds like a fascinating talent. But how would you go about doing it in the Hunger Games?" Caesar asked.

"I dunno. You'll all just have to tune in tomorrow to find out," Noiz finished slyly. She then went off before her time even ended.

_Great job, me! Mysterious, but not too mysterious. People are going to want more of you!_

**Clyde Morrisey**

_You can do this. It's only for a few minutes. It's not even that important, anyway._

_No you can't. You'll mess up and make everyone not like you. You're not the likeable type._

_What about my sister and Beverly? And maybe Thaleia?_

_No, none of them like you voluntarily. They're only forcing themselves to do it._

"Let's see what District 4 has to offer us! Here is Clyde Morrisey!" Caesar announced. Clyde took his place at the chair and let him begin with the questions.

"Some people say that District 4 is not much of a Career District, what with people like Finnick Odair only coming around every once in a while. What do you say to that, Clyde?"

"Well, I'm no Finnick Odair in terms of looks, but I have all of his fighting abilities," Clyde replied.

_Do you honestly think that will save you from prostitution?_

_Come on, I'm sexually repulsive._

_That's not what Beverly would say._

_I don't want to think about her right now._

"Huh, I see. Maybe people were wrong when they thought that looks won the Games a lot. What else do you have to back you up, Clyde?" Caesar asked.

_Quite a conundrum. You don't actually have anything!_

_Yes, I do. I strive to be the best—_

_Dorea already has that down._

_Well, I'm not heartless like Tiberius._

_Steele has that down._

_I can swim…_

_So can some of the others._

_I don't have to worry about making and breaking alliances, and I don't get attached to people._

_Cecilia, Dade, Noelle, Matthew, Noiz, Teddy, and Rocko are all doing a better job than you._

_I can fight better than any of them, though._

_But Tiberius can fight better than you, though._

_Time to focus._

"Clyde? You ok, buddy?" Caesar waved a hand in front of him for a moment before he responded.

"My District partner, Thaleia," he declared. "She's incredibly friendly, understanding, and trustworthy. She's the only one I've really been able to connect with, not just in the Games but with people, period. We both probably won't last to the end, but I know that if she had to pick someone besides herself to win it would be me. She's been a great friend to me over the past couple of days. I don't regret picking her out of all those others."

"Yes, that's quite an interesting topic I wanted to bring up," Caesar pointed out. "The reapings footage shows that tons of girls were all desperate to volunteer. But out of the group you saw, you picked Thaleia. What was going through your mind, and was there any particular reason you picked her?"

_I'm going to explain this the way it happened._

"The truth is," Clyde began, "Thaleia was the most familiar out of all of them. All those other girls were so desperate to volunteer, pushing and shoving. They were all complete strangers tome. But Thaleia I had met just the day before. We didn't say much when we trained a bit together, but I knew then that I'd rather have a slightly familiar face than an unfamiliar one, and a patient, understanding District partner than any other sort."

"Sound reasoning from a sound mind!" Caesar remarked. "Now it's time to her what your District partner has to say."

_He said you had a sound mind! What kind of sick joke is that?_

**Thaleia Starling**

"Thaleia Starling, ready or not, her she comes!" Caesar cried as she entered and sat down.

_Don't be nervous. Just smile and wave and answer what he asks. And how nice of Clyde to introduce you a bit!_

"Clyde says that he knew you before the reapings!" Caesar said. "I swear, there seem to be a lot of those lately. The Districts must be getting smaller or something, am I right?" The audience chuckled a bit. Thaleia thought the joke was a bit dark, but she said nothing.

"We only knew each other for a day," she explained. "He was training, I was training. We just kinda happened to meet up with each other. We didn't say much, but I guess he respected me as his fellow Career, wanting to get some last bit of training in."

"What was District 4 like for you?"

"It's a nice place," Thaleia replied. "Full of these nice resort towns and beaches. I don't see why you Capitolites don't come and visit us more often! If I evere make it out of these Games, I'll be sure to give you a tour."

"I will definitely look forward to that," Caesar agreed. "I've been craving some fish for a while now, and what better place to go for it than where it's fresh-caught! Haven't eaten any in about a week! Although I guess I'd be rebelling against my dietician's tyranny!" everyone in the audience laughed.

_You're not interesting enough. He's compensating for it by making jokes they'll remember afterwards. Say something interesting about yourself that they'll remember!_

"Care to tell us a bit about yourself that Clyde hasn't already told us?" Caesar asked.

_Now's your chance! Think of something, quick!_

"I can be really…" Thaleia thought carefully for a suitable adjective. What could they remember? "…Bubbly at times. Just ask my family. But in the Arena, you still need to watch out. I can be as happy as a dolphin one minute, but if I need to be I can be as deadly as a shark in no time at all!"

"Many dangers lurk in the sea," Caesar said in an ominous tone to the audience. "And perhaps you're one of them, Thaleia! Thanks for opening up, but now it's time for someone else to take the stage!" Thaleia walked out, feeling relatively confident.

_And swimming never came up at all! Thank goodness!_

**Copper Nyrstar**

He walked out and sat down, giving a quick bow to the audience.

_Just one more night! Just one more night! Don't let them know too much now. Noiz was vague, you can do that, too. Just assess the normal parts of your life._

"District 5 tends to produce some strong tributes every now and then. Copper, do you think you're one of them? That 9 in training would certainly make it seem so. That was one point above Thaleia, and she's a Career!"

"I don't know if it's wise to evaluate how strong I am before I get into the Arena," Copper replied, a smile of humility plastered on his face. "For all I know, I could turn out to be very different in the Arena than how you'd expect me to be from training."

_That's good!_

"So you think that you'll get in there and find out that you're not as strong as you thought you were?" Caesar said. "It's a possibility, but not just for you. That's what's so exciting about the Games; you're almost never completely sure who could win."

"I don't know if that would be the case," Copper replied. "All I'm saying is that tributes are very different once they go into the Arena. Who knows if I'll be the same?"

"Hmm. Maybe you should just throw caution to the wind like Rex wants to do. I do the same thing at the buffet after the interviews."

_That's right, keep laughing with him._

"So, what about your home life? What was District 5 like for you?" Caesar asked. Copper had already come with a response to this one.

"My parents were very understanding people, although sometimes I couldn't really connect with my sister. I learned a lot of chemistry knowledge and gained a lot of upper-body strength, both of which helped me in my training. My classmates and my dog, however were never really supportive of my idea of fun."

"What was your idea of fun, Copper?" Caesar asked.

_The clock is ticking. Just a few more seconds._

"My knowledge of chemistry drove me to performing various experiments. For example, what is the ratio of the compounds of the human body? How do all of its natural processes work? And what, most importantly, can we withstand, and what can we not?"

"As much as I would love to go into detail about that, we're out of time," Caesar lamented.

_They know a little bit, but not enough. The others are all too focused on themselves to worry about me._

**Riley Covington**

"Next up is Riley Covington!" she made her way to Caesar on cue.

_Well, time to show them what a badass you are._

She emerged in an outfit that seemed quite unfitting; a massive pink ballgown like the one Lidda had worn at the reapings, except even more complex, with numerous layers of silk and flowers embedded in each layer. There was even a train about 8 feet long trailing behind her, graciously held up by an Avox, which unfortunately was not Cornelius, as much as she wanted him to be there. She could see Matthias and Augustiana in the audience, but her brother was nowhere to be found. Surely he was watching from his prison, though?

"Whoa, Riley! That's quite an impressive dress you have there. You never struck me as the type who wore frilly things like that."

"I know, right? Normally I'm this badass boxing chick that could knock your lights out, but for tonight I'm going to be a girly girl."

"Boxing? Is that what you did back home?" Caesar asked.

"Yeah. I had…this urge to open up a training center one day, and since we couldn't really get many weapons in we mainly focused on hand-to-hand combat. Most of the guys were tough, but I was tougher. It wouldn't be right for them to beat up the person that had made their training possible, after all." Riley had settled on using "this urge" rather than explaining about Cornelius initially. She had also settled on her creating the training center—really just getting her parents to buy a warehouse at a discount—for the reason as to why she most of her sparring partners had trouble beating her. The real reason was that she was simply tougher than them, but she felt that boasting like that wouldn't sell well.

"All of that is fascinating, but it makes your gown quite a contrast to your personality. What's the story behind that?" Caesar asked.

"This is a test of endurance," she explained. "If I can withstand walking around in this mass of clothing that I'll be ready for anything in the Arena, especially giant gown mutts, if there are any of those this year. I won't even need scissors to take them out!" The crowd laughed.

"You're quite the humorist, it seems. Is there any guy back home that found this appealing?" Caesar asked.

_Crap. He asked about a love interest. Saying no will just make you lame, and saying that all those guys were too weak for your tastes won't exactly be the coolest thing they've ever heard. Maybe you can turn this around, and make it into what YOU want to say. But can you pull it off safely?_

"No. But there is one guy who was in my life that I'd like to talk about: my brother."

"Which one?" Caesar asked. "We could see from your reapings you had quite the family."

"Cornelius," Riley explained. "He disappeared several years ago. But after I came here, I realized something."

"And what was that?" Caesar asked, apparently giving her permission to speak on the matter rather than changing the subject.

"That he's still alive in the Capitol," Riley declared. There were a few murmurs of confusion and interest, but she didn't care about their reactions. She knew her family would be watching at home, and now they knew he was somewhere in the Capitol. The dress didn't feel so bulky anymore. She could see Matthias glaring at her, and Augustiana looking at her cautiously, worried about what she would say next.

"Well…that's quite the revelation. But I'm afraid I find that hard to believe." Caesar remarked.

"Why?" Riley asked in an almost demanding tone. "You guys remember Cornelius Covington, right? My brother? He was supposed to be in the 79th Games, but then he disappeared."

"That's not what we remember," Caesar replied in an almost condescending tone, as if he felt her was dealing with an insane person.

_Which might be what they think of all of us._

"The male tribute from District 5 that year was a boy named Aaron Browning," Caesar informed her. "He didn't make it past the bloodbath. There was no Cornelius in any of the other Districts, either. Orestes Maximus won that year, from District 1. We can call him up, and I'll bet he doesn't remember a Cornelius. You must be confused, Riley. There hasn't even been a Cornelius since the 27th Games, and he was from 8."

_They don't know. They were either all brainwashed, complete idiots or they were never told about this. What did Cornelius say last night? Oh…he tried to tell me that it Augustiana had saved him…and stopped the execution from being public, because the Games were over. Crap. Well, congratulations, Riley! Now everybody thinks you're bonkers. Only one way to make up for it…_

She laughed a fake laugh and slapped her knee. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, everybody! That was just this hilarious joke I made up on my way here! I swear it was funnier in my head!" the audience laughed nervously, but no one really seemed to get her "joke".

"Well…your act might need a bit of work, then," Caesar replied. "It's not like boxing, that's for sure. Thanks for being with us, though."

"I was glad to be here, Caesar. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just trip my way over to the punch bowl backstage," Riley replied, refusing to let her escort help her so that she'd comically stumble around. She made sure to catch herself with her hands each time, though, and they were already roughened from years of training to support her.

_I'm sorry, Cornelius. I tried to remind them, but I guess they never knew about you._

**Darius Irons**

"Now let's go to District 6! First from there is Darius Irons!"

_Don't be nervous. You're just talking about yourself and what your interests are and how you plan to win the Games. In front of millions of people all over Panem. The others did fine, why can't you?_

He could feel his knees trembling and his forehead sweating as he walked up to sit across from Caesar. Darius swore he could see a change in the look he was giving him. He had interviewed dozens, maybe hundreds of tributes before. Was it all right to be shy in front of this guy?

"Districts 5 and 6 are usually very interesting, given the various stuff people do there," Caesar began. "What about you, Darius? What did you do in 6 to contribute to its diverse economy?"

Darius didn't feel like he had done much on that front, but he knew that Caesar was implying to explain his background. "I was always fascinated with machine parts," he began, hoping he didn't come across as clichéd or boring. How many others like him had perished in the Games? "I loved seeing how I could break it all apart and find out how to build it all back together."

"Sounds like my 3 year old when he's stacking blocks," Caesar remarked, "Except he's more into the destroying part." Darius nearly cringed at the laughter from the audience. They weren't technically laughing at him, but for Caesar to indirectly compare his hobby to that of a 3-year-old's was borderline insulting. Still, he had probably said that just to get the crowd's attention.

"After I figured how machines worked, I became interested in building my own," Darius went on.

"Sounds like you would fit well in 3!" Caesar remarked.

"But that wasn't my best talent," Darius continued. He was not going to let Caesar decide what was interesting about him. If these people were bored by him, too bad! "One day, my friend Nora had her arm completely severed in a factory accident."

"Oh…I'm so sorry," Caesar said, assuming that she had died in this.

"So I studied anatomy," Darius explained as Caesar gave him a look of misunderstanding, "And realized that even though I couldn't do much to change the shape of the human body on my own, I could do plenty with machines to make them fit perfectly with human body parts. The doctors who gave Nora a prosthetic arm tried that, but they didn't work hard enough. I don't really think they cared. So I built a better one for her myself."

"Wow! That's quite a talent you have there," Caesar declared. He himself seemed to be interested, but the Capitolites didn't seem to be engaged much. "So…if a tribute had their limb cut off and they were your ally, could you build them a new arm or leg?"

"Possibly," Darius answered honestly. This piqued the crowd's interest, and he decided not to add that it would be difficult, considering that he'd have to stop the blood flow before his patient bled to death, get them in a safe area, disinfect and clean up the wound, need large amounts of metal and wires to work with, et cetera. Possible, yes, but in the Arena, he'd have to be very lucky.

"What else can you do?" Caesar asked eagerly. Darius couldn't help but think that his time might be running out.

"Well, my knowledge of anatomy lets me know a number of weak points in the human body, aside from the obvious ones like the neck and the heart. For example, with arrows I can…"

"We're out of time, I'm afraid! Guess we'll just have to see the rest of your abilities in the Arena!" Caesar remarked. Darius left, a slight smile on his face.

_That didn't go too badly._

**Elodie Kruger**

She knew exactly what to say, and exactly what not to say.

"Now for the girl from District 6, Elodie Kruger!" she walked briskly over to her seat, making sure everyone heard the click of her heels on the stage.

"Darius was a bit of a tinkerer. Can you top that in any way, Elodie?" Caesar asked.

_Of course. A subtle way to ask about my talents. You seem to know me well enough already, Caesar. Matthias didn't say anything about me to you, did he?_

"I certainly can," Elodie replied in as eloquent and articulate a tone as she could muster. "You see, unlike most of the others, I don't demean myself by engaging in pointless activities such as staring at people for hours on end or exhausting my body by learning how to fight. Both my parents are highly skilled doctors, and they run the finest hospital in the District. Both me and my sister Elysia are well-versed in the field of medicine, and I intend to use my skills in the Arena.

"I'll be sure to come to you if I catch something from eating all those pistachios they serve here," Caesar joked.

"Feel free to do so," Elodie replied with only a small false smile on her face. "But remember that just as doctors know what can save lives, they also know what can end them." The audience oohed, knowing very well what that implied.

"So you're a poison expert, too?" Caesar asked. "If only I could make you my personal physician! Too bad you're heading to the Arena tomorrow."

"Quite. But I expect to make it out," Elodie replied.

"You do?" Caesar asked, dumbfounded. Or perhaps he was just pretending?

"Yes. You see, not only is my medical knowledge unprecedented in the Games, but people will naturally want me to win. I am not like most of the other District children; I have no barbarism or killing instincts in me, except when necessary. I will do what I must in the Arena, but once I leave you will all see that I am still the articulate and intelligent young lady you see before you now."

"We certainly hope so," Caesar mused. "That's all the time we have for you for now, Elodie. Thank you so much!"

_No, thank YOU, Caesar. It felt good to be able to be honest like that._

**Dade Novak**

He had to concede that some of the other before him had done pretty well. If he actually had cared about this whole interview thing, then maybe he'd have gone with an angle or something.

But he didn't. This was just crap for the Capitolites to eat up. Rex had probably understood that best, and Elodie the least.

He wore a dark red and maroon tuxedo with a black tie, although sharp eyes could probably detect a flash of green. Ssam was nestled in his clothes somewhere, and although Dade had originally put him in one spot on his upper arm he had probably moved since then. He was so tiny that he sometimes couldn't even be felt slithering over his skin.

"So Dade, what are trees like?" Caesar asked. "I have to say that we in the Capitol don't get many of them."

"What kind of a dumb question is that? Seriously, are you retarded or something?" Dade asked. He felt that this was an appropriate insult, considering so many other people had said the same thing to him. The audience laughed even louder than they had at Caesar's jokes.

"Heh heh, you really know how to hog the spotlight, kid!" Caesar asked. Dade was a bit disappointed that he wasn't offended in the least.

"But yeah, trees are cool. Tons of animals live in those, you know."

"Oh, so you're a zoologist, then?" Caesar asked.

"I'm not whatever the hell that means, but I do have a lot of pets back home," Dade explained. "Although frankly they're none of your business, despite being more interesting than you." The Capitolites laughed again, and Caesar was beginning to look a bit flustered.

"Well, do you have any advice to us Capitolites in terms of pets?" Caesar asked, probably hoping not to get another rude remark.

"Sure. Don't trust people. They'll backstab you and betray you and be mean to you. But animals never will. That's something you people better remember when you see me in the Hunger Games tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to jot that down! Thank you, Dade!"

_Sorry I had to upstage you. You deserved it, anyway, for making us do these stupid interviews._

**Cecilia Banggai**

The clapping sound of the crowd seemed to be muffled in her ears. The only thought running through her head was:

_I can't face these people. I can't face the people that might have cheered when Robin died. Or worse, just looked on silently. I've made myself look weak, I've made myself look strong, but I don't know how to make myself look hopeful and alive. What do I do, Robin? What did you do?_

She tried to think back to her sister's interview she saw on TV all those years ago. She hadn't done anything special. All she did was answer the questions like any normal person would. But she mentioned her parents, and how they had died, making up some story instead of saying that they spied on the Capitol.

_But I can't do that. I can't talk about them so frankly the way you could. There's you I have to talk about, too. I can't face these people. I'm not what they want. I can't be the next Johanna. She was strong and pretending to be weak. I'm weak and pretending to be strong._

"Cecilia, darling, get over here! We're dying to meet you!" Caesar called out. She strode out cautiously, her outfit matching her mood. It was a lovely black gown, but a bit frilly, and it matched her heels. Her hair was secured in a braid; so at least she wouldn't look disheveled if she cried. At her stylist's request, she was only given a slight amount of makeup on her face so that it wouldn't run.

"District 7 is beautiful, marvelous District," Caesar began, "And it's people tend to be as tough and mysterious as the trees they're surrounded by! Johanna Mason and Xenophon Cupress were perfect examples of this. Do you think you have what it takes to follow in their footsteps?"

"No." It was a plain and simple truth.

"Why ever not?" Caesar asked, apparently confused at the idea of a tribute feeling like they didn't have a chance. But surely someone had done this before?

"Do you all remember my sister?" Cecilia asked. "Her name was Robin."

"Robin Banggai? How could we forget? Of course we remember her, right folks?" Caesar asked the audience. There were a few murmurs of agreement, but not much. To jog their memory, he withdrew a remote from his pocket and played some footage of Robin's reaping and interview on a TV that normally showed what was going on here. Cecilia smiled at the sight of her sister on the screen. "Look at the color of my wig back then!" Caesar remarked when footage was shown of her interview. Cecilia was relieved when he wisely switched it off after Robin had spoken for a few seconds. She would have lost it if she had to see her getting killed in the Arena, which had happened shortly after the bloodbath.

"It's ok if you don't," Cecilia went on. "Robin's death was absolutely heartbreaking for me," she explained through watered eyes. "And before that were my parents…now all I have left is my nanny Alessia. It's hard for me to fight in the Hunger Games, knowing that it's where my sister died. I want to be strong, and I am, at least physically. But I don't know if I can take any more misery."

"I think you need to at least try and win, for your sister," Caesar answered. "Don't let her death be in vain. And don't let it ruin you, either."

Cecilia looked back at him. She knew he was only trying to help, but his words made it worse. Robin's death was in vain no matter what. Even if her sister had somehow won the Games, she herself would still have been subject to reaping. And her death meant nothing other than the fact that she was dead. Families of tributes never received compensation for their loss.

"It's one thing to say that, but it's another thing to live it out," Cecilia pointed out. "I feel like I don't have much of a chance because I'm just too broken to fight well. But there's one thing I can remind myself of."

"What's that?" Caesar asked. Cecilia recalled what Alessia had said.

"That I'm stronger than I think I am. If I just let motivate me, then maybe I can survive." Cecilia doubted that she'd actually survive, Alessia's words would make them think she had just a small bit of hope. She couldn't make them count her out completely.

"Words to live by," Caesar mused. "Thank you, Cecilia." She left, wondering if she could make it through tomorrow.

**Thomas Kerr**

"Now it's time for District 8! Here is Thomas Kerr, everyone!" Thomas felt himself robotically walk to the stage, more focused on remembering what he had been telling himself before:

_Say whatever you want. Just don't mention the family. Don't bring them into this at all. If he asks, just make something up and roll with it._

"Thomas, you and Denelle were very charming in your chariots! You may not have done anything extravagant, but we certainly remembered your smiling faces!" Caesar remarked. "Tell me, is there something in the water over in 8 that makes you all so friendly?" Thomas hadn't watched the Games much before getting sucked into them himself, but he could distinctly remember that last year both of the tributes from 8 had been particularly aloof, completely unlikely either him or Denelle. Still, a question had been given to him that he could give an answer to.

"I'm glad you liked us in the chariots," Thomas replied. "I think it's just because over in 8, people tend to be very tightly knit, a lot like the garments a lot of us made for a living. Sometimes we tear each other a bit, but we can always sew ourselves back together." The audience awed at his statements, perhaps finding it endearing that he was able to tie the alleged closely-knit communities of 8 with his District's primary purpose. Technically it was true, but the Kerrs were not the type of family they had in mind.

"I take it your family was tightly knit, huh? What did they do?" Caesar asked.

_Dammit!_

"My mother is a seamstress. She mainly sewed with a little help from my sister. My father was a cobbler, and I helped out with that. We mainly served the community rather than the Capitol, and now that I'm in a place where people don't have to struggle to survive, I have to admit the change is rather astounding. Maybe one day, I think, the Districts can be like that, too."

_What am I saying? How am I going to get myself out of this?_

"I don't know. District people tend to be rather violent—well, it's an exception to the rule," Caesar remarked, probably trying to exclude him out of politeness. "After the rebellion they tried to pull, are you sure they deserve it?"

_Yes. This is something I can work with._

"That's a very intriguing question, Caesar," Thomas replied. "You see, the Districts existed prior to the rebellion. Back then they were governed more laxly, which is probably why they were all able to rise up so easily and strike at the Capitol so thoroughly. However, that was 85 years in the past. Most people alive today don't have any memories of this. All they have to go by is what was written down. The District people of today are much more obedient and friendly. We're loyal enough now that you could even cut all the Peacekeeper populations in half, and the levels of crime would be the same as they always were. People have adjusted to Capitol rule, and in some cases even embraced it. I don't know the full story on most of the Districts, but I think that some of the least disruptive ones deserve some privileges, which could in turn inspire the others to do the same. So then the Capitol could have its reign of the Districts, but at the same time not have to worry about them revolting. Of course, the idea of them even revolting at all is a bit absurd, considering it hasn't happened in nearly a century."

"Hmm…I like your reasoning, young man! You're certainly think before you speak, unlike my kids. That's all the time we have for you, though." Thomas left, giving a quick smile and nod to the crowd, who clapped but mostly didn't cheer.

_You're welcome, mom and dad._

**Denelle Ardley**

Lies were still a bit difficult to understand. Sure, she knew what they were and why people told them, but sometimes their reasoning seemed a bit faulty to her. Why did Thomas make up something about his parents, especially when he had been so open with her on the matter? On one hand, she knew exactly why he would, but she didn't understand why he had felt that he _should. _Couldn't he have just used his supposed persuasive skills to assure the Capitol that he was harmless just because his parents were criminal masterminds?

Denelle decided that it was better for her to worry about herself. Thomas had his reasons, and besides, he wasn't like her in every way. It wouldn't be right for her to be mistrusting of him just because he wasn't exactly like her in terms of how much he was willing to open up about.

"Here comes Denelle Ardley, ladies and gentlemen!" she practically skipped on stage in a bright yellow dress to match the one she had been wearing at her reapings. She would have liked to do that on the chariots, too, but her stylist had insisted on another color.

"Hi, Caesar! My experience in the Capitol has been amazing! Everything is just so advanced compared to what we have to work with at home! I'll bet not even 3 is like this place! And not to mention the fashion and the food!" These were honest praises, but a part of Denelle's mind had nagged at her to start with these flatteries. It was just a sort of instinct she had.

"It's good to hear, coming from you. Luxury around here gets old, sometimes," Caesar admitted. "Heck, sometimes I wish I could live in a District just for a day to see what it was like. And if I could I think I'd start with 8. Although…I already promised that I'd let Thaleia give me a tour of 4!" he cried in mock desperation, more so to the audience than her. "What am I to do, folks?" even Denelle laughed.

"But seriously," Caesar added, "What was home life like for you? Was Thomas correct in his assessment about strong families?"

"He certainly was," Denelle replied. "Not everyone in my family has the same optimistic personality as I do, but we rarely had a dull or sad moment. I was always there to keep everyone's spirits up, and the rest of the District saw that, too. Most people appreciated it, but some people found me a bit annoying."

_Although I really don't understand why._

"It must be hard, though, to keep yourself in high spirits all the time!" Caesar insisted. "What did you do to pick yourself up when you were down?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't had much to work with in life that was sad. So I don' t really know how to answer that very well, at least in a way that would seem believable to you all. The only things I can remember are the times all those kids at school teased me for my personality—they thought I was crazy or hiding a dark side or something—and when I was reaped. That time, and all those other times before, I couldn't help myself and started to cry. But you know what? I realized shortly afterward each time that sadness was just an emotion people feel. A natural reaction. And if I didn't want to feel it than I didn't have to. So when people or circumstances made me upset, I just…sort of stopped myself after a while. I can't stop myself from feeling sad, Caesar, but I can mitigate it a whole lot until it's small enough for me to overcome, for me to look in the face and say 'I'm done!' and so I just sort of move on, forgetting the bad things and remembering the good ones."

"If only everyone had that ability," Caesar mused. "Then maybe the world would be a happier place. Thanks for sharing, Denelle. Now it's time for District 9!"

Denelle couldn't help feeling that she had some sadness to suppress after that interview.

**Amruen Neversky**

He had a good idea of what he was going to say. The only question was whether to tone it down or not. And was it really a good idea for him to go right after the happy girl?

"Here is Amruen Neversky," Caesar stated with only minimal emotion as he walked out on the stage and sat down, his face stern and intimidating. At least, that was how he thought he looked.

_He doesn't seem to be interested in me already, and I haven't even said a word. They must have warned him about me. It's not like he can stop me, though._

"So, we've heard from the other Districts about their homes. What's 9 like? All we really know is that they mostly make grain, but that designation was fairly recent. What else do they do around there, Amruen?"

"Mostly, they work like slaves, not just for the Capitol but also for themselves. Ironically enough, some see the Hunger Games as a form of liberation from their work. Who knew that many people would rather die than be enslaved?" Amruen replied. "There's a lot about human nature that you won't see in the Capitol that you can find out about over there."

_Don't outright say it. Lead them to it._

"Were you one of those workers, Amruen? Did things ever improve for you? How did you bide your time all those years?" Caesar asked 3 questions, but he seemed to be treating them as one.

"No, I was not a worker," Amruen replied. "And no, things did not ever improve. I bode my time by stockpiling and weapons and waited."

"Waited for what?" Caesar asked, apparently trying to intimidate him while feigning a look of curiosity.

"For the day people would realize that they don't need to subject themselves to pointless cruelty. For the day when people would wake up and realize that no matter how weakened they are, they can still fight. For the day when I can safely say that my parents didn't die in vain when the Capitol killed them." He could hear a few murmurs and gasps from the audience.

"Are you saying that you would support another rebellion?" Caesar asked in an accusing tone.

"Perhaps. But you all would, too, if you knew what went on in the Districts. You'd say that we have every right to bring the Capitol down." More excited and louder panic from the audience. Amruen could see an old man in the back, chuckling to himself. Maybe he was a veteran of the rebellion? But why did he think this was so funny? Did he think this was all just a joke? Enraged, he stood to his feet and made his plea:

"You know what they do! You know how they assassinate their polticial opponents, and how they ruin the lives of the Hunger Games victors! You know how they keep the Districts in slavery and beat them for little reason! You know all of this! You've just been pretending like you didn't! The Capitol is old, and it needs to die! Isn't the President evidence of this! Death to the Capitol! If we all say it, they can't stop us! If we all fight back, then they can't kill all of us! Death to the Capitol! Death to the Capitol! Death…"

"There's just one problem, Amruen," Caesar interrupted, his voice calm despite being raised over the roars of the Capitolites. "We've heard all this before."

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Did you really think you were the first tribute to openly hate the Capitol? Do you really think we would be helpless and so easily prone to your kind of persuasion? Young man, don't take us for fools. Rebels like you come very often in the Games. And do you know how often they survive the Games? Never."

"You mean, there were others?" Amruen asked hopefully. He had always fast-forwarded to the actual Games to see the barbarity of the Capitol in action. How could he have overlooked what was so important?! How could he have been so naïve?!

"There were others, yes. But now they're dead. And if you don't shape up, Amruen, you might be, too. Our next tribute is Noelle Valade!" Caesar announced as Amruen felt himself being dragged away.

**Noelle Valade**

Just as she had expected. He'd show up, make a scene, and then get himself kicked out. Ernest would be proud.

_Hopefully he doesn't see anything useful in him anymore, _she thought. Ernest had arrived back at their floor that morning, and upon meeting them again he gave them each a hug and pleaded for forgiveness. It was easy to do—Ernest was not particularly hate-able—but in Noelle's mind he hadn't had to do it. If anything, Ivan was the one who needed forgiveness. But he'd have to apologize first.

She wondered what he was doing now as her name was called out and she sat down across from Caesar, the audience already having recovered from the shock of Amruen.

_Too bad. I'm not changing my angle for you guys in light of how he was. And if you don't like me, there's always Matthew._

"So, Noelle, please tell us that you're not like your District partner?" Caesar begged.

"Relax, I'm nothing like him. I don't live in the past, for one thing," she replied. _Well, maybe there's Ivan, but that's different._

"Were Amruen's words about his District true?" Caesar inquired.

"To an extent, but he sort of exaggerated a bit. A lot of us would work in the wheat fields, but not all of us. I had a regular life, really. But it sucked nonetheless. Not the Capitol's fault, though."

"And whose fault was it?" Caesar asked.

"Ivan. He was my best friend—practically my boyfriend—for a long time. But then, he decided to be an idiot and leave me for a bunch of new friends." The Capitol muttered in solemn pity. Noelle had a feeling that they would be able to identify with spurned love and rejection. She felt like grinning inwardly, but that would give her away.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Caesar replied. "That must have really hurt you."

"Yeah. But I learned something from it," Noelle reassured him. "And it's a lesson that I can easily apply to the Games."

"Which is?"

"Don't trust people for too long, and don't let yourself have any attachments. People will only break your heart. I don't know if that boy from 7 was right about animals, but people I'm pretty sure I can get. Katniss, Ernest, Xenophon, and a whole slew of other champions knew that lesson well, and they all won their Games."

"Now that you put it that way, it seems like being antisocial is a great advantage!" Caesar declared.

"Maybe. But most of the tributes here don't know that it takes a certain technique to do it right, a technique which I have learned all too well, from personal experience."

"Wow. Thanks for sharing with us your strategy, Noelle. Now we'll move on to District 10."

_Take that, Ivan. I won't have to be living in the past for long!_

**Matthew Jorkis**

These people were all so detached, it seemed. People would probably accuse him of the same thing, he figured, but at least was capable of forming a genuine bond with someone. Not like these people, who only seemed to marry for money or fame. Back home in 10 that idea was unthinkable simply because there were so few people who had a reasonable amount.

"Tell me, Matthew, does 10 have the charm of 4, or the beauty of 7, the ingeniousness of 5 and 6, or the kind-heartedness of 8?"

"I dunno. We got animals, we keep'em happy and fed, and we got people. We keep'em happy and fed, too, but with people it's much harder. They complain more, say they need more."

Strangely enough, the audience laughed. _That wasn't a joke!_

"It's the same here, at least people-wise," Caesar agreed. "My boys are always hungry for more food, and then when I give them something nice like corn on the cob or pork chops, they whine for ice cream! And then they don't stop until they get brain freeze!" The audience laughed again while Matthew was temporarily transfixed by the thoughts of the food Caesar had mentioned. Only on special occasions was he allowed to eat those, and only if the animals were fattened up and it would be all right, financially speaking, if one was eaten.

"Your sons need to toughen up, sir," Matthew replied frankly. "They oughta come down to 10 and 11 and see where their food comes from."

"What was your family life like back there?" Caesar asked.

"There's my Pop, my sister Kathleen, my step-mom and my fiancé, Eve. We were engaged," Matthew explained.

"It must have been hard for her to see you go. Is there anything you've learned from your time here that they could benefit from knowing?"

"I 'spose there is," Matthew replied. Turning to a camera, he said: "Listen up, all you Jorkises out there. Lotta people not worth trustin' out there. But for every hundred or so people you meet that aren't worth getting to know, there's always one or two that are. Don't stop searchin' until you find them." Turning back to Caesar, he added, "Mine are Eve and Isla, my step-mom. But the way she's worked with Kathleen, I might as well call her my real mom." The Capitol made that "aww" noise he heard from the interviews before his.

"Very touching words, thank you," Caesar said, escorting him off. "Now it's time for Julia Kellson to appear!"

**Julia Kellson**

_Well, there you go! Get on up there and don't screw up!_

"Julia, some very unreliable sources tell me that you and Matthew knew each other before the reapings. Since we can rule out romance, how did you two meet? Were you drawn in by his unique brand of humor?" he asked.

"Humor?" Julia repeated. "Is that what he thought you meant when he was describing our District? That's how it really is. He just said it in a way that you people couldn't understand. You're not from where we are, I can't explain it to you."

"What do you mean, you can't explain? Can't or you won't?" Caesar demanded.

"I, uh…"

"Heh heh, I'm just messing with you, lighten up!" Caesar added reassuringly.

"Oh. Well, I mean that District 10 is pretty unique and it would be tough explaining how we live. As for how Matthew and I met, we were both working at the same ranch, owned by the Capris family."

"A ranch? Did you ride cattle and wrangle horses?" Caesar asked.

"No! It's the other way around. Don't you people know anything about how raising livestock works?!" the audience laughed, and Julia sighed with relief when they mistook her frustration for a joke.

"Ugh, I'm so ignorant about this!" Caesar lamented. "I might just need to go and visit every District to try and learn as much as Dorea! Maybe even more, what do you think?"

"No, that's not necessary. Anyway, we were out at the ranch and he needed help with a mare that was about to give birth. Normally they can do it naturally just fine, but this one needed some help. So I had to keep the mare calm while Matthew loosened the foal out a bit. His dad had tried to help, but he got hurt by the anxious mother."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman in labor!" Caesar laughed. "I should know, my oldest daughter is expecting soon! I can finally be a grandfather! But enough about me. I really need to stop indulging in myself, eh, Julia?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"One last thing before you go; what do you think of your District partner? He seems to make this big deal out of trusting people, like some of the others we've seen tonight."

"I don't get why he's like that," Julia admitted, "But I can see the reasoning. For me, I'm always worried that I'll say something to make people hate me or get offended. I was especially worried about that tonight. But sometimes it's better to be alone in the Hunger Games. Interpersonal relationships can make things complicated."

"Thank you for your input in this debate, Julia," Caesar said. "We certainly seemed to have a divided house, folks! Some tributes think alliances are great, while others see them as unnecessary obstacles. Perhaps this Games can solve that issue once and for all…but first we'll take a look at District 11!"

_See? That wasn't so hard. Looks like your feet are smaller than you realize, and stepping on toes is easy not to do. Metaphorically speaking, of course._

**Teddy Graves**

He bounded up to the stage, nodding as Caesar mentioned his name. "Hey, folks," he said with a wave, and then he turned to address Caesar. He seemed to be a bit surprised by this slight breach of procedure.

"So, Teddy, we've gotten a good glimpse of a lot of Districts so far, but what about yours?"

"Eleven?" he Teddy asked with a chuckle. "There's not much to say that you wouldn't already know from 85 years of interviewing tributes from there. Most of us kids pick fruit from the orchards, and Peacekeepers are all around. Most people do it because they have no choice. But me, I do it to escape."

"Escape what?" Caesar asked.

"A lot of things. Usually it's my poor excuse of a dad, or my distraught and insane mother—whichever one she happens to be at the moment."

"At the moment?" Caesar repeated.

"My dad fathered child through a lot of women. They're all nominally my mothers, in some way or another. But in reality, none of the people in the Graves clan do a damn thing worth mentioning here. They're all messed up in some way or another, so I try to avoid them. I know you guys like family interviews, but trust me, you'll want to skip them for me."

"Why is that? Are you embarrassed by them, or do you think you won't make it to the final 8?" Teddy shrugged.

"I can't really predict an outcome, Caesar. Sorry to disappoint all of you. But I can promise you one thing: most of us really aren't worth remembering." And with that, long before his time ended, Teddy got up and left.

"At least," he added before he went backstage, "We aren't worth remembering in life."

_It's the least I could do for you, Pulse. It's a shame we didn't meet sooner._

**Pulse Fallow**

Well…THAT had been weird! For her, at least. Teddy had probably planned it all along.

"Well, looks like it's time for me to get on with my interview! Hi, Caesar!" Pulse cried, giving him and the crowd a wave. Luckily, they found it endearing.

"So, Pulse, what do you make of your District partner? I must say in all my years of doing this—and believe me it's been a long time—I've never seen someone walk out of an interview like that, unless they're angry or embarrassed or just plain unpopular. But Teddy didn't seem to be any of those things."

"Heh heh, yeah. Teddy is just awesome like that!" Pulse replied. "And given what I do in 11—it's kinda unique—you can imagine my excitement when I found out his name was Graves! We were practically destined to be best buds."

"What is that job, if I may ask?" Caesar inquired.

"Sure, you can ask! You just did! Don't worry, I'm not like Amruen, I won't bite! I worked at a crematorium that doubled as a funeral home with my dad and uncle. We were basically the only source of smoke in the whole District, unlike in some of those other places where it's everywhere. There was this noise from these other factories, but I never minded it."

"Factories? Why would they have factories in 11?" Caesar asked.

"What? Never heard of food-processing factories?" Pulse asked. Turning to the audience, she added, "You didn't think your food was just fine the way it was, did you?! Especially milk, but the 10 people are gone. Oh well."

"So, you worked in a place full of death. I suppose it's shaped you somewhat, hasn't it?" Caesar remarked. "You're quite…spunky for someone who's surrounded by it so often."

"Yeah, but see, death isn't really the end of life. At least not for me. It's the start of something awesome! Living people you know everything about. Dead people just become names, and if you're really lucky than there's a face attached. It was always fun for me to think up these stories about what they did after they died. It's kidna hard to explain, but it's a lot like what Mohan did. Or does, rather."

"Taking dead people and twisting them to your own desires seems a bit…unusual," Caesar pointed out.

"Well, they're dead, they can't complain!" Pulse replied. The audience laughed. To them, death was the end of life, but it was something that didn't really happened to them. Pulse never thought she'd identify with these people, but for the first and only time, perhaps she was. "And if they want to file a complaint, they can always come back from wherever they are and give me their real story, if there's no one else around that remembers them."

"Well…how does this…interesting view of death make you feel about the Games?" Caesar asked. Pulse sighed.

"It's kinda crazy-complicated," she tried to explain. "See, Teddy has this depressing idea that we are all meant to be forgotten, or something. I'm sure you all thought that was just crazy. But me, I'm different. Everyone needs to be remembered. And if there's nothing to remember, then I'll be more than happy to give you a legacy. So, even though I have a good grasp of what death is, I don't see it the way most people do. Let's just leave it at that."

"I'll be sure and remember you if I'm ever suddenly forgotten. Thanks for your…insight, Pulse. Now, last but not least, District 12!"

_I did pretty good! _Pulse thought as she left the stage. _I knew plan B was a stupid idea!_

**Rocko Warner**

He walked up when his name was called and sat down, scanning the crowd.

_Sorry I'm not Lidda. You'll just have to suck it up._

"So, Rocko, we've heard reports on most of the more unknown Districts. Anything you'd like to say about 12?" Caesar asked.

"Whatever Katniss and her ilk told you," Rocko began, "Remains true today. Most of us survive by doing odd jobs, or selling nominally illegal things. I was previously in that business, but I also took things from people and gave them to those that reward me for it."

"So, you were…?"

"Yes, a thief. What, did you expect me to be a simple-minded baker or a coal miner?" Rocko challenged.

"Not at all! We've had plenty of thieves in the Games. It's just that it makes them quite disreputable. Here in the Capitol, we just happen to particularly abhor that occupation."

"And I just happen to particularly abhor selfish, decadent people that care more about being fashionably correct than being morally upright—or mentally sound."

"Excuse me?" Caesar asked, a bit offended.

"What I'm saying is that I am unapologetically a thief. Get over it so that I can explain how this is a major asset to me in the Games," Rocko replied.

"Um…"

"Thank you. Anyway, my thievery has allowed me to master the art of going about undetected and making people not miss things that they would not expect to be departing with."

"So you could steal weapons and supplies from a Career?" Caesar asked.

"Possibly. Certainly better than you could."

"Well, that seems like quite a talent, albeit one of very low character. Thanks for giving us a glimpse into your world, Rocko."

"So you wish to be rid of me. Very well," Rocko said, leaving the stage as Teddy had done.

"Last but not least, the angel of the chariots who made the President himself cry in amazement, Lidda McGaffigan!"

_Enjoy her while she lasts._

**Lidda McGaffigan**

What the hell? Why was everybody sobbing and cheering? Capitolites were weird. Everybody was weird, in some way or another.

"Quite acting like that!" Lidda demanded, but no one seemed to pay her any respect.

"Lidda, dear, your chariot performance was amazing! Cinna certainly is a genius, isn't he?" Caesar said.

"Yeah. He finally let me be beautiful, for once in my life…but then I had to do a bunch of shitty training, and what did I get?! A 6! You'd think they'd just give me a 12 for my chariots, but nope! Apparently I suck after all!"

"A 6 isn't too bad," Caesar pointed out.

"Save the flattery for your waiter! A 6 is nothing compared to the Careers! And I think they just gave me that because I acted like a maniac! Although I thought I did a pretty good job. Who else do you know that fights with glass?"

"Glass? How do you have experience with that?"

"I worked at glassmaking store with my uncle and his apprentice. It was great, and I learned all sorts of words I apparently wasn't supposed to. But who cares, that's all behind me. What's important is that tomorrow I either die or live!"

"That's one way to look at it," Caesar said. "Any last remarks to close us off?"

"Sure. Listen up, all you assholes watching from home! Whether you think I'm an asshole or a delightful princess—and I sure as hell don't wanna be THAT—you won't be forgetting me anytime soon, got that?" When she left, the crowd went wild.

_If I was just one year older, I bet they wouldn't even care. Thanks for the memory, Cinna._

. . . . .

"And they, folks, were your tributes!" Caesar cried. "Place your bets, pick your favorite, wish them luck, send them sponsor gifts…but remember that only one can win in the Hunger Games! We'll see who has the odds in their favor tomorrow at 10! I'm Caesar Flickerman!"

**AN: An I just finished this! Sorry it was long as usual. I'm unfortunately pressed for time, and while I want to do one last chapter before I head off to Florida for a vacation (no, I can't bring my computer, so no updates), so the next chapter will be short! I hope you all enjoyed the interviews, because I sure did! I tried to give you insight into pretty much everybody, and I think I was successful.**

**Trivia question: Who is next alphabetically after Rex in terms of last names?**

**Cecilia**

**Dorea**

**Denelle**

**Riley**


	28. The last night of peace

The last night of peace

Each tribute had a final set of thoughts right before they went to sleep that night, knowing that it was the last night they would have before the Games began. And for some, it was likely to be their last moment of temporary sleep. Some were content, others were scared, and others were strangely at peace.

**Rex Adamas**

They were all toast, one way or another. No one could stand before his might and power forever. Many people like him had won in the past, like Brutus? Why couldn't he have been born in 2? He would have set Steele straight and had even better mentors than the two people that had pathetically tried dissuade him from his path.

They knew nothing of risk-taking. They had just gotten lucky.

One think he only admitted to himself in the quiet darkness of night was that when he took risks, he actually _wanted _a negative outcome. Life was too boring and perfect for him to properly enjoy.

Getting drunk that night and exiling himself here by choice was probably the most fun thing he had ever done. But no one else would see things that way.

**Dorea Calis**

No. Not tonight. This was time meant for thinking, not sensual escape.

The Careers were dangerous, but only typically so. Tiberius' abilities were directly related to Steele's. They truly were rivals, she thought, joined at the hip in some sort of ideological sense. Hopefully they'd kill each other and save her the trouble.

Clyde was troubled, and Thaleia was his weakness. She knew that even better than Noiz did, because unlike her she only focused on what was important. Speaking of Noiz, Dorea put her as a secondary priority. Goodness knows where she'd be this tomorrow, if not dead.

Riley was fine so long as she had a weapon. The people from the outlying Districts hopefully weren't worth considering, but she had stored enough information about them as she could from studying the interviews while others engorged themselves with food.

And poor Lidda and Darius. They were so smart, and knew things she could only dream of knowing. How she wanted to go up to Lidda and ask how to make a stained-glass window, or some sort of metal contraption from Darius. But they were already dead, really.

It made her cry. Such knowledge and potential, wasted. Hopefully that wouldn't be her, too.

**Tiberius Townsend**

Revolting. Utterly revolting.

The idea that they would even remotely consider her ideas was sickening. If the Capitol had deemed her an acceptable winner, then what was left for him?

Some supported him, sure. But it wasn't the unanimous support for him and the animosity for Steele that he had hoped for.

Maybe his brother had been right. Maybe he took all of this too seriously. Everything was black or white, good or bad, life or death. Maybe Steele was worth forgetting for a little while. This was the Hunger Games; she was bound to die at some point.

_I'll still hate you, Steele. But I'm not going to let you drive me to ruin. If I break, then you win._

And what about the other Careers? What if they had all planned to ditch him when the time came, on their terms instead of his?

_I can't focus on you right now, Steele. I need to show them that I can be a leader. Meanwhile, all you have is a highly hated rebel._

He'd do fine. It was Steele that should be pondering whether she had done the right things, not him.

**Steele Sharpe**

She wasn't sure if she could do it.

At some point in their alleged rivalry, Steele had found out that Tiberius had a very black and white view of the world; Capitol good, Games good, rebels bad, et cetera. Steele had laughed at that the moment she found out.

And now she found that she would have to laugh at herself. Was she any different? Did she look at things more objectively? No. She was just another Tiberius, hell-bent on trying to prove the opposite of what he was trying to prove. It was a clash of wills, and whoever was right dictated future District 2 Career policy.

That is, if the boy from 11's words were just talk.

_Meant to be forgotten? Is there anything I can do to prevent that? Is there any way I can make myself remembered?_

Augustiana would remember her, at least. But she was a stranger, a girl who had entrusted her with a mission she had already given herself. A mission she doubted she could fulfill.

How could she do good without knowing what evil was? Almost instantly, her mind turned to Amruen.

_He knows the difference. He can teach me. He can help escape from this Career mindset._

That was what made her stronger than Tiberius, she decided. She had a person that genuinely cared for her and would point out her mistakes in thinking; all he had was a person that would stop him from going on rampages. A restraint instead of a friend.

She'd do fine, if she could survive the bloodbath alive.

**Mohan Sim**

He just realized that his stories never had endings, at least not the ones that he made up.

He always imagined them as going on forever, with the characters getting in new adventures and doing new things, and seeing new places. Living happily ever after to him meant that they were doing all the things he wanted them to do.

But now, a much more important story—a real one, his own—was on the verge of ending. And there wasn't much he could do about it. He could run, he could hide, but death was inescapable.

He thought back to what Nekka had said; she had told him to be the perfect balance of imagination and reality, in essence. But was that enough to save him? Just because he was both an innocent child—supposedly—and aware of the bitter realities of the world didn't guarantee anything. Perhaps she had just said that to comfort him.

Or maybe, in her senility, she actually believed it.

He tried not to think about how his death would impact her, but his mind seemed to bring it up.

_If I give up, she'll know in the way I die. If I try, she'll be able to bear it just a little._

He then remembered what Denelle had said; they still had a chance, despite everything. A small chance, but still a chance.

It sounded like something out of a story; a few children having to hold onto a personification of hope and ride it like an animal, and then they would be whisked away from all the danger.

Why couldn't reality be fiction?

**Noiz Huxley**

So much had been laid for her to see. Now she had seen it all. Soon it would be time to do.

She had already planned out an idea in her head in regards to the bloodbath: The Careers were all around her, but Clyde was a big softie at heart. He'd only kill her if she got in the way. Tiberius had probably forgotten all about her, she could see it in him. He'd only remember if he saw her. So her plan was to wait a bit and let the others charged out like bulls to the Cornucopia, while she herself went backwards. She'd find a place to hide; surely those were all over the Arena, and then wait while the others were fleeing from the Careers, and she'd take the last things she could from the pile. It wouldn't be much, but chances are something good would be overlooked in the mess.

Potential clients included Dorea, Steele, Clyde, Thaleia, Riley, Denelle, Noelle, Teddy, Pulse, and Lidda. Rocko she could not associate with, although she knew that it could happen. Everyone else was either doomed to die too quickly to work with, or just too dangerous.

Noiz let herself sleep, thinking with satisfaction that no one had asked about her name during the interview. Probably because in the Capitol everybody had weird names. It was really a nickname her parents had given her because she wouldn't stop crying at a young age. All her talking had happened then, and now she was much quieter unless the situation called for it.

Her real name was not worth knowing. It had died with her parents.

**Clyde Morrisey**

_Sleep, the Games are tomorrow._

_No, you've got to talk strategy._

_I'm so tired. I'll survive the bloodbath, I can think about all that later._

_Keep telling yourself that. Feed yourself the lies you've been eating for the past few years. The lies your mother told you about being perfect. You're not perfect, the interview showed everyone that._

_That doesn't matter. No one is. The fact that I recognize it puts me in a class above others._

_Perhaps. Sleep tightly in your delusions, Clyde._

**Thaleia Starling**

The Games had already started somehow. She and Steele were on a raft. Amruen had been knifed in the back.

"Oh, god, he's coming this way, Thaleia! What do we do?!" Steele screamed, her tears joining with the ocean around them.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Thaleia cried in an equally distraught voice. "I can't swim! That experience with the net…it made me too scared! I don't want to die!"

"But Thaleia…you have to! It's what you get for betraying me! I'm too inherently good to be eaten by a shark. But you, you're bad! You're a spy!"

"How do you know about-?" before Thaleia could finish Steele pushed her overboard with her strong arms, leaving her to flounder in the sea below.

Helpless, she let herself sink. There was no hope now. This was a fitting punishment. Her only hope was that death would be swift.

And it was. She could see a shadowy shape swim through the water, its teeth white rows of sharp teeth contrasting with its dark mouth.

"I eat lessers for breakfast!" the shark cried, sinking its teeth into her flesh.

"Stop, Tiberius! Just leave me alone!" Thaleia cried, and then it was all gone.

She awoke, relieved that that bizarre nightmare hadn't been a reality. But why, in its duration, did she think that it had been real?

_Maybe I'm taking too many risks._

**Copper Nyrstar**

Slaughter. Blood. Toxins. Unconsciousness. Death.

What sort of poisonous plants would be in the Arena? He hoped it would be something good. Maybe he could convince all of them—he preferred not thinking of their names—some nightlock and make them think they were blackberries. Oldest trick in the book, but it wasn't very fun or effective.

If only he could get a Warhammer with a blade. Then he could tip it with poison and hit someone half-heartedly, making them think he was just bad with the weapon, and they'd never know he'd been so dangerous until minutes or hours later, after they had already scared him away.

And what about Elodie? She understood. She had suffered with him. But it was a different sort of suffering. She didn't seem to share his passion, just his knowledge. Or maybe there was a mad side to her she just didn't want to show? Was she even a friend at all, or just a master?

_But she wouldn't dare leash you. You're untamable and full of destruction!_

But what if Elodie was right? What if her offer would help him rather than hinder him? There was just no way of really knowing until tomorrow.

In the meantime, he lulled himself to sleep by pretending that the dog from his past was curled up on his bed, twitching and flailing and hacking up blood. But not dead; Copper would very much like a pet.

**Riley Covington**

One of them had to go home.

How would her victory be able to secure Cornelius' life? Even if she won, the President could still just keep him as an Avox. She was lucky that he had even allowed Cornelius to live for so long. It must have been that Augustiana chick, and she must have done something he couldn't have refused. He was an old man, so…

_Ick. Don't go there._

But surely there had been some good reason to let him live? Maybe just to give Augustana company. But that didn't matter, either. Cornelius would have the sense to at least try and break away from those people, especially if he watched her going through so much on TV so that they could both come home.

_Maybe we'll just cross that bridge when we come to it, _Riley decided. _Right now I've got a tinker and a brat to manage. If we're lucky, we can all last a day! Man, my allies suck. But at least they're cool, in their own weird ways. Hell, Lidda herself could probably kick the horny Career from 1's ass! If she could get the jump on him._

The truth was that Riley was very uncertain about her odds of success, so she avoided the question, at least regarding herself.

**Darius Irons**

They had all been impressed by his interview, but now what? He might have been full of surprises to the Capitol, but there really wasn't much to him. How was he supposed to shoot arrows in somebody's leg perfectly the first time? And what if someone's limb actually _did _get chopped off, particularly his own? What was he supposed to do, just make a peg leg for himself and keep going? He'd probably die of blood loss before he could find a suitable prosthesis, and there was no way Riley or Lidda would be able to follow instructions and give him one like he had given Nora.

But the Gamemakers wouldn't care. They'd find a way. Or hopefully they'd see some sense and not do it.

And how would he survive with Riley? Sure, there was Lidda, but he doubted she'd last long. She was getting annoying, anyway. Riley, however, could probably kill him whenever she felt like it, and shooting an arrow into those strong arms of hers probably wouldn't render them useless. Then, he had an idea.

_Set stuff up, without them knowing. Do it every night while the others are asleep. If you need to, you can lead Riley or Lidda or whoever back to that spot and get rid of them! Just make sure all your traps are deadly, and inconspicuous._

It was up to the Cornucopia or sponsors, however, to get him those supplies. There just had to be luck involved, huh?

**Elodie Kruger**

Things could go horribly right, or horribly wrong.

Even with the President's "endorsement" she couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Had he been lying after all? Had she misunderstood him somehow? Was there a tribute, such as a Career, that she had overlooked? Could she even survive the bloodbath?

_Thomas. He's a smart one. He'd rat me out. I'd have to kill him discreetly. Copper can't do discreet. But could I find time in the bloodbath?_

Probably not; there was a chance that Denelle would be right beside her District partner the whole time and would see her if she did. And God help her if Noiz saw, that snotty bitch.

_At the mercy of a delinquent, a maniac and a street urchin!_ She thought. _Only the Hunger Games could do something like this to me._

But that was all right. She could make it through this. Nothing was guaranteed in life, but at least the odds were in her favor.

**Dade Novak**

It was not so much a fighting game as it was a survival game, he thought.

Katniss had been a decent battler, but her true advantage was in her ability to survive. She had also been extremely lucky in getting a forested, safe Arena. There was a fairly large chance this Arena would have none of the thing she would have needed to survive.

But he was better than Katniss, and probably Xenophon, too. He didn't make himself out as this girl on fire or hidden super genius, which he was neither of. He was honest with himself, not like most of these others.

"All I need is you, Ssam," Dade remarked as he let the snake slither around on the bedside table. "Heck, I probably don't even need you, either; still, you're great company. Not whiny or stupid or full of yourself. We can beat these bastards, and then we can go home." He received no response.

That was the problem with animals, Dade lamented. Most of them didn't understand you, or if they did it was only on a limited scale. Why couldn't they respond to tell you that they heard you, that they cared, and that they loved you just as much as you loved them?

Or maybe they didn't. Dade didn't want to think about that. Otherwise, he'd be alone.

Not that he was tired of that or anything.

**Cecilia Banggai**

She had no idea what she'd do in the Arena, but Alessia's words echoed still:

_You're stronger than you think you are._

Was that worth showing, or hiding? Was it better to put her past behind her or keep on remembering it? Which action would make her stronger, and increase her chances of winning?

_Is it even possible? _She thought. _Am I doomed like Robin?_

Cecilia clenched her fists from underneath her covers, angry at the injustice of it all. Why couldn't she have been born in the Capitol and not have had to deal with this? Why did both her and her sister get reaped? Had her parents really been that bad? All they did was gather intelligence on Capitol plans, like who would be the next President or what the next Games would be like. They had hardly told her or Robin much about their secret jobs, so whatever they had uncovered had died with them. Couldn't the Capitol just leave them alone?

_They wanted to break me. Well, that's already done. Just like that boy from 5, I'll be completely different once I get in the Arena._

She wished that she had spent her years rebuilding instead of mourning. But would that have even worked?

**Thomas Kerr**

Who would have thought that at his young age he would have to choose between two girls?

Except they weren't competing for his affection, but rather his loyalty. And they didn't even know it!

_Denelle and her friends are much better people than Copper and Elodie, and if I needed to get rid of them I could do so easily. Or maybe they'd just die on their own. So could Copper and Elodie, but it's less likely._

_And as for the poisoners…why am I even trusting them? Guess it's because they actually know what they're doing. Why can't Denelle have Elodie's intelligence with her happiness? Then this choice would be so much easier._

But no matter what, he knew, he could always snitch, even if it violated the unwritten code of criminal ethics. Four people could take on two, right?

Or maybe none of them were worth worrying about. The only side he really needed to be on was his own.

**Denelle Ardley**

_Things will be fine. Things will be fine. Things will be fine._

Telling herself that didn't seem to work. There were tons of tough tributes that wouldn't hesitate to kill her, and a lot of her allies had gotten higher scores than her. That worried her for some reason, as if it meant that if they went head-to-head in a fight, she would automatically lose. But scores were really nothing to worry about, right?

But there was always a dash of hope in every dark spot. None of them seemed to suspect that she on to them—if there even was any information worth uncovering. If she pretended like she knew, would they reconsider?

Maybe. Even the smallest chance of something positive coming her way was enough to make her feel like she had enough hope to last her for the whole Games.

Hope. Was that naïve of her to think about? Maybe, but in a world where she was friendly and few were friendly back, hope was the one constant. Maybe she could rely on it.

**Amruen Neversky**

At least he had gotten to say "Death to the Capitol."

The fact that no one wanted to listen to him for long wasn't surprising, but the idea that the Capitol had adapted itself—like an animal, he added in his mind—to rebellious tributes by just ignoring them and shouting them down was a cause for alarm. He had hoped that maybe he could get at least a few Capitol citizens to realize his plight, and then maybe they'd sponsor him. But no, it seemed like they were all just one mass of fickle, corrupt people. Was there not one good one among them?

Come to think of it, was he any good himself? A few days ago he had considered killing people that represented the Capitol's power in his District, just like he had heard happened in 8. Did killing a monster mean that you'd have to become one yourself?

Hopefully Steele could help him answer that question; she was probably pondering it herself. But at least she wasn't a coward that backed down when an opportunity arose.

_I could have just brought my guns, shot some Peacekeepers at the reaping, and then I wouldn't be here. Why didn't I do that? Was I scared of death? Why did I hold myself back and just go unarmed?_

Amruen couldn't help but think that despite being in the Hunger Games, he had made the right choice. Whatever he did would be seen by millions rather than dozens.

**Noelle Valade**

Her plan had better work.

Sure, those 10 people might be on board for a while, but had it really been a good idea to get two allies—one for weapons, the other for backup? Matthew was clearly more dangerous than Julia, but were both of them worth getting involved with in the first place?

_Did I do this all wrong? _Noelle thought, first about her Games strategy and then her problems with Ivan. Had she been stuck on him for too long? Was the wall she built up to avoid getting to attached to people in the long-term worthless? Had it all just been one big, immature mistake?

_Maybe. But I can't back out of it now._

She doubted that she'd win the Games, but if she did, she decided that she would apologize to Ivan. Or forgive him, whichever was needed.

**Matthew Jorkis**

_Eve, watcha' doin' right now? It's me, Matthew. I miss you. I don't know if I'll be here tomorrow, but I sure want to. I still love you. Noelle is just a friend that I want to try and trust. Sorry if I'm breakin' your heart._

She couldn't hear him, obviously, but maybe one day the Capitol would invent something that could let her transmit her thoughts into his head, whether he survived this or not.

Matthew had never considered telepathy or clairvoyance to be possible—he didn't even know the names of these things—but coming the Capitol made him realize that the stopping point for mankind's innovation was still far away, even if it stayed in one place.

He wasn't used to thinking in metaphors like these, but if the Capitol advanced themselves enough to look like those dummies, would they still be the same? Would they still be obsessed with trendy things and never worry where their food came from? Would they still put teenagers in the Hunger Games? Would they ever fall in love?

_But I guess they don't do that now, _he thought_._ Maybe they were already on their way to being what they wanted.

Regardless, Matthew would much rather be a human with Eve, holding hands as they crossed the threshold of their new house together, whatever it looked like.

_I'll be back, I promise._

But how many others, he realized, had said those same words?

**Julia Kellson**

She was beginning to grow tired.

Not just tired in a physical sense, meaning that she needed sleep, but of the way she had been conducting herself. Always worried about stepping on people's toes, unsure of what to say, and then feeling like she had messed up after saying it. If Matthew had trust issues, then what did she have?

_The way I look at it now can't go on. And the way I want to look at it would be much more suited to the Hunger Games._

From now on, she promised herself, no more take-backs. No more apologies for words. If people got hurt by them, then that was their problem. The girls from 5, 11 and 12 seemed to get this, and one of them was even younger than her!

_No more miss nice girl. At least, when it pays to be harsh. Jeez, I sound so stu—no. Do not finish that thought._

She thought about Noelle for a moment. This girl had clearly shown herself to be wiser than her, and too hardy—or was she too calloused?—to get up in arms over the spoken word. Maybe she was the perfect ally she had been searching for all along. Still, she didn't want to make a pact with her blood for this girl.

_You can make your plans tomorrow. Just run and grab stuff and get out. There's not much to it that you can mess up._

**Teddy Graves**

What a stupid thing to say!

"We were meant to be forgotten?" what kind of a line was that?!

_You always liked to say that, _he thought. _It's just that it was usually in your head._

It wasn't that it hadn't been true. People's lives were like that, in the grand scheme of things. But knowing that didn't set him apart from the others, did it?

He had smiled in bemusement at their training, had this grin on his face when Pulse got into an alliance that she thought would help her, and rolled his eyes at all the dramatic interviews and pleas for attention and recognition from his fellow tributes. Lidda was the worst, but Pulse hadn't seemed to mind being upstaged.

_Maybe my parents forgot to get me my optimism and denial medicines when I was a baby. I guess I was never vaccinated against cynicism and grim reality like a lot of others here were. Oh well._

Teddy suddenly grew alarmed by his previous thought. Why did he always think that way?

_And yet, Pulse was completely exposed to this, her polar opposite. But she didn't look away. Maybe a friend would have been something nice to live for. Much less selfish than living for myself._

But now, it seemed like his counterweight had given up on him to go with some better people. Maybe it was for the best. But what about him?

_I'll just do what I always do: get away from it all._

**Pulse Fallow**

For the first time in her life, she actually cared as to what people thought of her.

In the past, Pulse hadn't really been around many people besides her immediate family and funeral guests, so she had never really bothered with how people saw her, in terms of appearance or her habits. They hadn't paid much attention to her, anyway.

But now that the spotlight had been on her, she had failed the one time it had been important. No one had thought of her as quirky or endearing, just weird. She had said the first things that had popped into her head like the girl rom 10, but instead of regretting them she tried to show the audience that she was genuine and meant what she said. So what if that had led her to talk about her interest? Couldn't they all just look past that and see the rest of her?

But she knew why.

_Because they seem to know, like you, that accepting yourself for all your flaws is bullshit made up by people that could never try hard enough._

Maybe people who abided by that would be taken aback by her saying that out loud, but Pulse was adamant in her beliefs.

_I'll just have to show them something different in the Games. Not someone that likes dead things and being all happy like Denelle. Those Capitolites only got a small taste of me at the Arena; they better get ready for a heaping helping of Pulse!_

She chuckled, letting it devolve into a laugh, knowing it might be the last one she would ever have.

**Rocko Warner**

The odds certainly weren't in his favor, but maybe things could change.

Unlike some of the others, who were perhaps worried about their chances of survival or whether they'd shown their good sides in the interviews, he was more focused on his game plan.

"Stay back a bit," he muttered to himself. "Wait for someone to flee from the Cornucopia like a panicked animal, fleeing with its heard from a lioness. And then ambush them and loot them, like a human hyena." He wasn't sure if hyenas ever attacked living prey, but what they both had in common was that they preferred scavenging. Did they like stealing, too?

"Now, to focus my mind on more serious matters," Rocko muttered, "Is there anyone worth taking out? The Careers are out of the question, Noiz will be gone by the time I attempt to locate her, the league of overinflated optimism will surely have deflated, I don't want to pick a fight with a powered-up loner, and Teddy…he's all right. Which leaves only one person left, if my assumptions about everyone are correct…"

He heard a knock on the door to his room. "Feel free to enter, or perhaps linger by the door," he said a bit more loudly. "But I need my sleep, too." He was expecting Haymitch to ask him to go and steal some liquor from another floor, but instead he saw Effie, devoid of make-up or stylized hair. In her nightgown, slippers, and hair curlers, she looked almost like an ordinary woman, save for her surgery-enhanced face. Saying nothing, she snatched him and embraced him.

"Would you care to explain why you have stopped suppressing your urge to loathe me?" Rocko asked as he was being squeezed.

"I'm sorry," Effie breathed as she let go of him. "For everything. For everything that's brought you here, for the way I was rather harsh to you on the train, for the way I could have been more understanding when I wasn't…it's just hard for me."

"What? Tolerating me?"

"Yes!" Effie rasped through tears, apparently feeling ashamed. "It shouldn't be, but if you were to understand how I've changed so much since Katniss' victory…you were just a major obstacle for me that I wasn't sure how to surmount. So I reverted back to my old self, just for a little bit, even though I'm trying to be more understanding of the plight you District 12 people are usually in!"

"I can't wholeheartedly forgive and forget," Rocko replied, "But your pity for your District is probably completely unprecedented. You do realize that, right? That you're essentially the only one of millions of Capitolites that has just a small ounce of care towards me?"

"I hope I won't always be the only one," Effie replied. "I also came to tell you that, well…I'll do what I can to support you."

"Come around to see that Lidda is worthless, eh?" Rocko replied.

"No, not quite," Effie replied, apparently not wishing to say bad things about Lidda. "I wanted to give her moral support when I could. I was the one that arranged for Katniss to attempt to teach her about archery, and I had talked with Cinna for a bit about her. The chariot design was his idea, of course, and I was completely blown away."

"Most people were," Rocko replied. "But I simply faked it. I don't think I could ever cry for Lidda."

"I wish I wasn't able to, either," Effie admitted. "But no matter what happens to her, I just want you to know that I'll still try and support you. Don't ever think that I've left you out of consideration." Rocko nodded in gratitude.

"Thank you. Now go rest your head on a heavenly pillow. My descent is tomorrow, but I don't want that to prevent you from having pleasant dreams tonight."

"Good luck, Rocko."

"And good luck to you too, Effie. If all Capitolites tried to do what you're attempting, then I'd have to look for a new job."

**Lidda McGaffigan**

All she could do now was wait and cry.

None of it had really worked. She had been made beautiful in the chariots, and she had been adored in the interviews, and cheered up in the train rides, and defiant in training. But what if that all amounted to nothing?

The very idea was sobering, but a very real one. And she couldn't stand it in the least.

_Fuck all of them. Fuck Katniss for her failure to turn me into her, fuck Rocko for being such a jerkish asshole, fuck Caesar for treating me like a child, fuck Seneca for not giving me a higher score! And fuck all those others who didn't see any value in me! I hate all of you! I didn't want to be here!_

_And thanks, Effie and Cinna. You both made it bearable._

But she didn't want to think about that anymore. She just wanted to think about the beautiful things. Things that would never make her do things she didn't want to. Like the people at home, and the art she had been in the process of making.

Where was it now? Probably lost forever, thrown away because somebody mistook it for scrap. Or maybe it was at her house, set to become a cherished sentimental object for the few people that had known her before all this.

It was ironic, really; the Capitol was so full of beauty, and they reacted to it when it was shown to them, but they never seemed to take much value in it. It was all around them, why should they? Another tribute like her would probably come up in the Games next year, and so while Lidda she was great for the moment, the Capitolites would find the strength within themselves needed to move on. Had that stupid boy been right when he said that people were meant to be forgotten?

Lidda didn't know the answer, but as she fell asleep that night she resolved that she would dream of a place where beauty was never tarnished, where things were never ignored, and people—all people, even Rocko—would be appreciated for something they had contributed to society for forever, never fading from memory.

There was something beautiful in everyone, she thought. But maybe she had just been the only one that wanted to show her own.

**AN: Glad to have finally finished this chapter after getting back from vacation! I had wanted to finish it earlier, but oh well.**

**To all my submitters: I just want to say that I love pretty much all the tributes here, but I have roughly planned out the bloodbath. I might change my mind about who lives and who dies, though, but before I do I just want to tell all of you that your tributes are all excellent in some way or another, even if nobody else thinks so! I know that certain people are more popular than others, but I really want to try and make all 24 of them be valued and appreciated in some way. I am very privileged to have worked with all of them, and I wish I could let them all live. But blood must spilled to appease the Capitol. **

**At the end of the bloodbath chapter, I will revise the sponsor points list (nobody wanted to reserve something in advance for the beginning) so that everyone listed can send stuff to their tributes after the bloodbath. I haven't been keeping track well, but I'll try to be as accurate as possible. If you want to dispute your points, then I'd suggest you'd only do so if you have less than 200. Otherwise it really doesn't matter because you have so much anyway! There's also something else I'll mention, but you'll see at the end of the next chapter.**

**May the odds be ever in your favor!**


	29. Bloodbath: Mistakes

Bloodbath: Mistakes

**Effie Trinket**

She clutched Lidda's hand tightly despite her constantly trying to yank herself free. Rocko, ironically, was more permissive.

The tributes, their escorts and their mentors were lined up similar to how they had been upon arriving in the Capitol, but this time there were no crowds cheering for them. Shipping the tributes off was never seen by the press; it made it more exciting for the TV-viewing audience to watch the tributes be lowered into the Arena, not knowing how they had gotten there or where they had come from. The other escorts and mentors lingered near their tributes as the groups were loaded up in different train cars by order of their District, as before, but only Effie and Lidda were crying. The others all had on grim expressions, but by now nearly everyone had used up their tears.

The escorts saw the tributes to their trains, but the mentors got on while they stayed behind.

"Goodbye, both of you," Effie sobbed, hugging each of them. Rocko did not return it, but Lidda did, saying:

"I don't want to die. I don't want to die!" she felt too defeated to shout it out, so it was reduced to a nearly a whisper.

"I'll be sure to send you both home, one way or the other," she replied, trying to wrap both of them in her arms.

"Would you care to let us go?" Rocko pleaded. "We have a destiny to fulfill." Effie let them go and nodded, waving goodbye as the tributes got on the train.

She had been like this every year since Katniss, but this time things were different. The others had been too distant to get herself attached to. But Lidda and Rocko, despite their problems, seemed perfect to her. Like the children she was almost able to have.

Katniss glanced at her and nodded. "Goodbye, Effie," she said as Lidda and Rocko disappeared into the train, the last of the tributes finally inside. "Don't lose hope for either of them. And if it seems like I messed up at being a mentor, then I promise I'll do better next year. None of us are giving up."

"You did fine, it was them that caused trouble," Haymitch replied. "They were tough to work with. But Rocko was a good guy. And Lidda really knocked the Capitol off their seats!"

"Yes. But don't forget to do your part, Effie," Katniss reminded her. She nodded, knowing that she was referring to sponsors. The train then set off, leaving her with the other escorts, most of which meandered around or went off to other streets to hail taxis and go home.

Effie got in one, too, but instead of going home she asked her driver to take her to the Gambler's Parlor House, as it was called; a luxurious building where escorts, rich Capitolites, and later mentors would gather to place their bets, collect their winnings, and send sponsor gifts.

_I have work to do. I know that escorts aren't usually the sponsor-collectors, but that can change, can't it?_

**Thaleia Starling**

After giving her farewells to Finnick and Annie, she and Clyde were injected with trackers and loaded up into the rear hangar of a hovercraft, climbing a ladder that extended from the train cars to get to the Arena from an automatic opening in the roof. The windows automatically closed themselves shortly after the Arena's roof opened to hide as little of what lay in store for them as possible up until the right moment.

"What did you see?" Clyde asked her as they were both escorted to platforms where they would be lowered down into the Arena. All the tributes were wearing white tunics, most likely in accordance with some theme, as well as sandals. And if that wasn't the case, Thaleia presumed it was because the Capitol wanted them to get wounded easily; on the legs the tunic only went down to just above the knee and didn't go past the elbow on the arms. The garment was securely held by a makeshift belt consisting of some tightly wound material about just barely thicker than a shoelace.

"Clouds, and a blue sky. That's about it!" she remarked, attempting a smile. Clyde didn't seem to react, at least externally.

"This might mean we have a semi-normal Arena probably a natural one," he concluded. "But in a few seconds we should see what we're up against. We can at least rule out a steel labyrinth, which they've done several times before."

Thaleia couldn't help but think that was very comforting. She had actually been hoping for something like that; it would have let her hide easily, and of course there probably wouldn't be any water if that were the case. But since she didn't have a choice in the matter she decided it would be best just to grin and bear it. Maybe the girl from 8 would even do that in a literal sense.

_Bring it on! _She thought. _Just make it something where I can go off with Steele and Amruen. Maybe for the rest of the Games._

"Remember, if something happens and you need help, just come back to us," Clyde instructed her. "I can take care of anyone or anything that you need me to, as long as I'm in good condition."

. . . . .

Minutes passed, and the 24 were finally lowered down, facing the Cornucopia and arranged in a semi-circle. To Rex's left was Dorea, and to her left Tiberius, and so forth. The Cornucopia itself consisted of various pillars surrounding a long and wide stone table, on which lay various supplies. There were 12 pillars, possibly representing each District, and each one had an additional pillar stacked on top of it, wedged in place somehow and forced to lean inwardly so that all the pillars touched together at a certain point. At the spot where all the tips had gathered lay one last column that jutted outward rather than straight up, curved slightly. Thaleia could see instantly that the pillars had been made to lean in such a way that they looked a Cornucopia horn. But given the extreme height and the balance of the pillars, hiding out in the horn was most likely an impossibility this year.

After taking this in, Thaleia nearly gasped when she saw what was behind the Cornucopia; a stretch of ocean water almost as far as she could see, with the outlines of another landmass faintly outlined in the distance. She immediately jerked her head around, hoping that the Gamemakers had not decided on an archipelago this year.

They had not. Directly behind her lay a series of sand dunes, and mountains far beyond them in the distance. To her left and right were forests, but apparently consisting of different types of trees she didn't know the name of. She decided that she would go with the one that was west of the Cornucopia, given the position of the sun.

_All I have to do is stick with Clyde, get some stuff, find Steele and Amruen, and turn right back around and head out with them._

. . . . .

A giant number 10 flashed on the top of the Cornucopia, which became a 9, counting down. Various tributes tried to search for a coherent thought in their mind before the chaos began.

_8. I'll kill her first, if I can. And then her. The boy between them is not important._

_7. There had better be some poisons in that pile!_

_6. Don't wave at me, stay focused on what's in front of you!_

_5. Given my positon, I think I can get something useful without even being considered. The Careers are on the opposite end, so I think we outliers have a bit of an advantage. How uncharacteristic of the Gamemakers!_

_4. Don't go out there. That's what they want you to do._

_3. I can run faster than him. I'll get my weapon first, and I can see a lot of them._

_2. Oh, boy…what have they put us into?_

_1. We can do this. We all have a chance. Yours is just a bit lower than theirs. But it's still a chance._

And then all hell broke loose.

**Tiberius Townsend**

A harsh buzz sounded, and a faint click could be heard, signifying the deactivation of the mines. Most of the others dashed out, attempting to match his speed to the stone table that held the keys to victory and defeat.

Most of them couldn't make it to the Cornucopia before he did. He could faintly make out Clyde on his left, his hands shaking as he reached over for something, probably a trident. Various bags, crates and sacks were strewn all over the table at some were tucked underneath its edges, nestled against its base. But Tiberius had his eyes trained for only one thing:

_Where is it, where is it? They wouldn't dare leave me unarmed! Where…ah, I see._

The naginata lay on the center of the table, concealed in a pile of weapons. Tiberius placed his hands carefully on the table and climbed on it, landing on his feet with a quick jump. He picked up the naginata and turned to look over his slight vantage point to see who was coming.

_There you are. And you, too? I thought you were too good for the Cornucopia. _Steele and Noiz were just seconds away from the Cornucopia, almost matched in speed. Tiberius jabbed his weapon and Noiz when she got in range, hoping to hit her. The only problem was she saw it coming and immediately strafed to her right with a jump.

_So you have good reflexes. All right. But what about you, Steele?_

She ducked as he tried to jab at her, quickly grabbing a sword from the table. Tiberius tackled as she took her weapon, leaping off the table and forgetting all about it for the moment. With him on top of her, he tried to see if he could strangle her, but she immediately kicked him in the stomach and pointed her sword at him. Tiberius scrambled to his feet, still clutching his naginata. He jabbed at Steele, trying to stab her on her left side. For the most part she blocked his blows, until a distraction made her pause for just a moment.

**Mohan Sim**

He screamed and kicked when the huge guy from 1 grabbed him, looking desperately out at his allies to see where they were. Thomas and Denelle were on the opposite end of the Cornucopia, getting food, water and other supplies and tossing them to Pulse, who was hanging back outside the pillars for some reason. He could see her District partner still standing at his spot, not having moved since they had all been allowed to. Copper was busy scanning the table for something—medicine, perhaps? But wasn't he more important? Only Elodie seemed to hear him and gave him a quick glance, narrowing her eyes.

_You never liked us, did you?_

All this he saw in just one moment before the boy from 1 cackled and stabbed him in the back with something, dropping him on the sand without a care. The last thing he heard was him stepping around him to go off after the others.

In that last moment, he could see all of them: his grandparents, the orphans, his parents, and the characters from his stories, all smiling for some reason. He could hear his mother calling out his name, but she seemed so distant, so far away.

But not for long.

**Cecilia Banggai**

Outwardly, nothing changed when she heard the scream and saw the blood. But inwardly, everything did.

In that moment, she ran around to the right, diverting herself from her intended path. She knew exactly what they were trying to do.

_You want me to be like him, don't you? _She thought towards the Gamemakers, knowing that her mind was the one place that they could never attack her for insulting them. Maybe that boy from 9 had had the right idea.

_You want me to be weak, helpless, and then to die at their mercy, so you can get your cheap thrill from whichever way they choose to slaughter me. That's not happening._

_Or do you want me to live so you can hold me up as the next intelligent Victor of the Games? I don't want that happening, either. I can't make it through this and you know it!_

_So instead of pretending like I have a chance, I'll get rid of the people that do. That way there will be no winner, since all your precious favorites will be dead. Starting with you, you big brute. You think you can just slaughter an innocent, defenseless child and get away with it?_

_The Banggais are tired of being treated like crap. All I want is one chance to fight back._

She immediately got behind Rex and gripped her huge hands around his equally large throat, not budging in the least when he tried to knock her off. She kicked at his back, gripping onto his shoulders and jumping on top of him, forcing him to fall backwards in an attempt to crush her. But he had failed to squash her head, so while she was hurt she was mostly fine. She took her arm out from under him and punched at his head repeatedly, not giving him a chance to stand up. She didn't know if his skull was withstanding the blows or not, but it was all she could do for the moment. He quickly shook her much-weakened body off and turned around, still holding his cutlass. She kicked him in the groin to stun him for a moment before going past him and grabbing a battleaxe from the table.

"This is for everything!" Cecilia cried, swinging her axe at Rex as he attempted to block with his cutlass. Her weapon was much deadlier than his, but he seemed to know how to dodge and attack with what he currently had, perhaps better than she did.

But even if Rex was better with a cutlass than she could ever be with a battleaxe, she still wanted to fight for as long as she could. Anything to finally get the revenge she needed.

**Noiz Huxley**

Everyone else was busy with something or other. She quickly glanced at Book Guru, realized he had nothing, and cast her eyes on the table.

_No time to mourn, just get what you need!_

She had already decided that the desert would be her hideout of choice. It was vast, full of dunes to hide in, she had her scarf to block out the sand, and no one else would probably think of going there. All she needed was…right there!

She saw a water canteen, some filled bottles, and a sleeping bag that was rolled up. She immediately grabbed everything one at a time, but when she was about to take her last water bottle, a knife was jabbed into her hand, piercing her middle knuckle. She cried out in pain, and her eyes immediately darted to see that the attacker had been none other than Scanner.

"You're dangerous, but I'll show so mercy. Think before snooping, Noiz," she said simply before rushing off to the other side of the table to grab other supplies.

_Dammit, Scanner! How is stabbing my hand a show of mercy?!_

But Noiz decided not to think about too much. Maybe that was how Careers just tended to think of things?

**Copper Nyrstar**

_Boy from 1 is fighting girl from 7. Boy from 2 is fighting his own District partner. Girl from 1 is getting random stuff. Good. You haven't registered in their minds yet. They don't suspect you._

And neither did the two from 4, it seemed. Copper had already grabbed all of his poisons that Elodie had neglected for him, handling the syringes herself and taking a short dagger from the table. He had seized a dart gun, already sitting beside a small box of additional ammunition, as well as the Warhammer he had been hoping for.

_I'll get rid of the girl. She'll be a good first kill. _She had already proven herself weak by letting the girl from 5 shove her aside while she let the boy from 6 grab a bow, so if she couldn't beat an unarmed girl than surely she would be helpless before him. The darts had come with a bottle of some sort of tranquilizer poison, but Copper had another idea; instead he added some artificial centipede venom to the tip. How nice of the Gamemakers to give all that! And then the boy could be simply whacked with a hammer and fed something else. Maybe just sand and saltwater?

He aimed and fired, only for the boy to get into the way at the last second, the dart jamming into his arm. Copper's eyes widened when he realized that the boy had already grabbed a trident and quickly spotted his attacker. Copper grabbed his Warhammer and readied himself for a fight.

The boy swung at him the side of the prongs of his trident first, only for the attack to be effortlessly blocked by the end of copper's hammer. It had been a bit slow to swing, sure, but it had worked. The boy from 4 tried again, this time attempting to jab him with the pointed prongs, but Copper blocked that with his hammer as well before battering at the trident, nearly knocking it out of the 4 boy's hands and stunning him long enough for him to swing down on his trident, making a huge dent in the metal. He had been aiming for the boy himself, but the Career was just a bit too quick to let himself be crushed that easily.

Copper could see his opponent's knees begin to tremble, and whether that was from the poison or not he wasn't sure. Either way, it was clear that he would be getting much weaker in a few minutes. Copper immediately continued with his onslaught, ignoring the boy's cry of "Thaleia, go with them!" and the sound of sandals dashing on sand behind him. But the boy was still able to block his deadlier blows despite his condition. If he could just hold him off for a bit more…wait, was he really turning around and jumping over the table? What a coward!

"Come on, we weren't through yet!" Copper protested before he was dragged by the collar of his tunic away.

"You've damaged him enough. There are weaker targets working with us," Elodie insisted, her voice lowered to a harsh rasp. Copper took his weapons and reluctantly followed his ally eastward.

**Steeleia Sharpe**

She winced in pain as Tiberius managed to slice at her left shoulder and stab her in the left leg. They were both right-handed, so each other's right side become a common weak spot. It hurt, but aside from that she was able to hold off Tiberius' jabs and swings, making sure to block with her sword and stay near the pillars, in case she needed to get behind one for brief cover.

"Try as you might, Steele, you have to concede that I'm faster _and_ stronger," he taunted as he jabbed his naginata at her leg again, sending the blade upward when it had missed its mark. All she had had to do was step back slightly.

"I can keep this up for a while. What about you?" he asked quizzically, whacking her on the forehead with the blunt end of weapon. She ignored him, lost in her thoughts.

_He can attack fast and strike hard with that thing, but if I just keep blocking and dodging then he'll have to get tired. Then I'll have my opening._

Another part of her thought about the boy from 3, but she dismissed it for now. He was dead, there was nothing she could have done.

As she tried to get on the offensive, Tiberius' face was suddenly struck with a lightweight metal disc. Steele grabbed the object as it bounced off her rival's cheek, realizing it was a shield. She looked to her right to find Amruen staring at her, apparently having been the shield's sender. She almost smiled with delight when she realized how much easier this fight was going to be. Even Tiberius was clearly intimidated.

But before she could start her next attack she was abruptly kicked in the stomach, her shoulders bumping into the table, one of them even being jabbed into the corner. Tiberius went over her, making sure to step on her stomach one last time before bounding off somewhere. Amruen grabbed her hand and helped her to her feet, faintly hearing someone cry, "Taste the backup, bitch!"

"What's going on?!" Steele cried out.

"No time, let's go!" Amruen replied, grabbing her and practically dragging her by her good arm away from the Cornucopia.

Steele couldn't shake the feeling that she had made a mistake, but it was too late to go back and undo it now.

**Teddy Graves**

When he saw Cecilia fighting off all those Careers, he knew that he had made a mistake by just standing here.

His plan had been to wait to make sure Pulse was safe before venturing off somewhere to hide, but the bloodbath had been too intriguing. Watching everyone scramble to get supplies, most of them ignoring each other while others tried to kill their toughest targets first, was really all quite fascinating. The girl from 12 had waved her hand a bit and shouted at him, but otherwise no one had paid any attention to him, although Pulse had looked back a few times before understanding that he wasn't budging unless he had to.

He wondered briefly what sociologists had learned about human behavior from watching this. What were they thinking of him, the lone boy that just stood and observed it all, probably doing an even better job of capturing it all in?

_Inspiring, _Teddy thought of Cecilia, _but it's not like it's worth anything. She knows she'll get killed. But maybe that's what she wants._

He wiped his brow as she dug her battleaxe into the shoulder of the boy from 1. Why had they made them start out here, where they were completely exposed by the sun? Did they somehow figure out he was allergic to it? As itchy as he was beginning to feel, he resisted the urge to scratch. What was going on here was worth seeing. Perhaps even worth remembering.

Now even the girl from 1, who had finished putting their supplies in a pile, was joining in, taking a pair of broadswords and making huge gashes in her arms and chest. Cecilia somehow fought them off despite taking so many hits, her eyes darting not just at her opponents but also at the fleeing tributes, most of which scattered northeast or northwest at different angles, although a few groups had gone into the desert. The boy from 2's cried out, "They're fleeing, finish her off!" and then they began to attack more relentlessly, this time not caring what Cecilia did to them. Soon only the boy from 6 and the girl from 5 could be seen, the former drawing a bow and the latter standing at the top of a dune farther back from the Cornucopia.

"This is for my parents!" Cecilia cried as she swiped at the boy from 1's legs. "This is for Robin!" she shrieked as she struck at the boy from 4's now shaking arm, still gripping her weapon despite having to use her arms to block strikes at her chest and throat. The girl from 1 and the boy from 2 seemed to still hold back just a bit, perhaps fearing her power. But finally, Cecilia staggered and collapsed, most likely having bled to death. The boy from 2 used the blunt end of his strange weapon to break her neck, not noticing that the boy from 6 had just fired his arrow low to the ground. He scampered away with what was probably his ally as the arrow embedded itself in the boy from 2's calf. The girl from 1 rushed to treat his wound with a first aid kit she had salvaged.

"They're all gone now," Teddy could hear her say.

"All but one!" the boy from 4 shouted, taking his trident and running after him despite his awkward running form.

And that was when he realized his mistake; he had had a chance. He could have just run away with Pulse and her friends. He hadn't wanted to before, thinking it was cowardly, but now he realized that sometimes cowardice wasn't something to look at in others with bemusement; it was something that helped people survive. And they survived because even though they were afraid, they wanted to live another day, to keep going with their lives even if it seemed like there wasn't much to do in them.

There had been so much more to life than he had wanted to admit, and now he was seeing all of it being taken away from someone, right before his eyes. And he was next.

And so Teddy ran. He immediately turned around and ran away, the eastern forest in the distance. Pulse had gone there. Maybe he could get a second chance.

Tears ran down his cheeks. _I'm sorry, Pulse. I should have at least tried, like you are. I should have joined in your alliance. I shouldn't have acted with such indifference when you showed me that you wanted to live! And then when you wanted to take me with you, I didn't let you. Your heart must be aching right now. Mine is, too._

_I should have given life more of a chance. I should never have said that people were so forgettable. I only said it because that's how my family saw me. I hope I'm wrong._

_Someone will remember me._

Teddy felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, and then nothing after that.

**AN: Well, there was our bloodbath. Is as custom among SYOT writers, I shall do the eulogies.**

**Also, I really don't want to hear any complaints about how someone you liked died or how someone you hated lived. I have other deaths planned out for later (which might change depending on sponsor gifts), but I postponed them to try and give the characters a bit more development.**

**Mohan Sim—Your death was quite predictable, but still saddening. You were the perfect combination of innocence and realism, as Nekka had wanted you to be. But sadly, it was not enough to ensure your survival.**

**Cecilia Banggai—You were perhaps one of the most depressing and difficult to write. You had a lot of grief on you, but where could I go with it? I had considered making you a Johanna, but then I decided against it later on, and I think it was for the best, actually. I hope that your submitter is pleased with the way I sent you off, fighting off four Careers for as long as you could, enraged at the injustice the Capitol and the Games had done to your family. You may have been just the second to die, but your death will certainly have consequences later on.**

**Teddy Graves—You were the hardest to kill off. I deeply enjoyed your cynicism, even though at times I feel like I was not able to write you well enough. I felt that it would be quite in character for you to see no point in trying to survive if you thought of yourself as doomed to die in the Games anyway—and for you to see the problem with your way of thinking. I'm sorry that it had to be you, out of so many to choose from. I wish I could have taken you farther, but I felt like you wouldn't want to go with me. Perhaps you would do well in another SYOT with a different writer, but for now I can guarantee with absolute certainty that you will never, ever be forgotten by me.**

**Here is the list of sponsor points everybody has.**

**Platrium—820**

**Julyette of Wonder—595**

**Xxbookwormockingjayxx-310**

**MidnightRaven—250**

**someoneorother123—220**

**Atashi Desu—210**

**luvakatsuki3—123**

**MeddlingArtist—115 **

**grimreaper1373—100 **

**Lokithisismadness—100 **

**iluvhungergames—70**

**jakey121—70 **

**Christoph Andretti—70 **

**munamana-60**

**NorisLilThief—50**

**Anonymous fanz—50 (possibly 40 on bow and arrows)**

**Aspect of One—50**

**earthling44—50**

**Axe Smelling God—45**

**ImmyRose-45**

**Emmeline C. Thornbrooke-40**

**Vulkodlak-30**

**Decidedly Destiel-30**

**NorthEastChild-30**

**MockingJack-30**

**Imetc—30 (all could be spent on one tribute)**

**karmakat49-30**

**JustAnotherAthenaGirl-30**

**Jedimindricks—30**

**There's one more thing I need to mention…this thing is called the HUNGER Games for a reason. So I came up with something to make things a bit more realistic: A hunger system!**

**For now, you don't have to worry about it. But after 3 days, every tribute's "hunger" stat will go down once per day, unless they have some food. Why else did you think I put food on the sponsor list (it's back on the chapter with Katniss' first POV, BTW)?**

**For reference, I will be using the Neopets Hunger scale (just go with it if you don't know what Neopets is, I just found this really convenient):**

**Bloated—Your tribute might throw up if they get one more morsel.**

**Full—Your tribute does not need to eat for the rest of the day, although 3 meals like a normal person would help.**

**Fine—Your tribute is fine. Hence the name.**

**Satiated—Your tribute's hunger is temporarily satisfied, but they should really find more food soon.**

**Not Hungry—Your tribute isn't hungry, but they soon will be.**

**Hungry—I think this one is obvious.**

**Very Hungry—Your tribute would really like some food.**

**Famished—Your tribute is really hungry and weak.**

**Starving—Your tribute is incredibly weak and might not do well in fights, if they can even stand and stay awake.**

**Dying—Your tribute dies today unless you sent them some food as a sponsor gift the day before.**

**But don't panic about this or worry about wasting too much on food. There was plenty in the Cornucopia and more of it scattered throughout the Arena. Chances are your tribute might find something. Here's how the food will affect them:**

**Cooked meat: Hunger stat goes up 5 points. You can go from Dying to Not Hungry from it! But of course, there's one tribute that's a vegetarian…**

**Canned food: Hunger goes up 3 points. Don't worry about your tributes not getting the cans open, I'll see to that.**

**Dried food: Hunger goes up 2 points.**

**Energy drinks: Hunger goes up 1 point, plus your tribute gets a little bit faster and tougher. Yes, I know I'm exaggerating the effects of Monster, coffee, etc. They don't call this fanFICTION for nothing!**

**Water: Stops hunger from going down the next day, and fills it up by two points.**

**For now, every tribute is currently at "Satiated" because they all had delicious breakfasts right before the bloodbath without me having to waste pages describing it. Everyone's hunger will go down each day, but a number of tributes may already have plenty of food…so while this is something to keep in mind, you shouldn't stress about it.**

**In addition to listing the hunger levels of every (living) tribute, I'll also list whatever wounds they have (you can have them healed with regular or Capitol medicine and first aid stuff, depending on the severity):**

**Rex: Bloody shoulder, cut upper legs, bruised neck**

**Tiberius: Damaged cheek, an arrow wound in his right leg**

**Steele: Cut left shoulder and left leg, bruised stomach**

**Noiz: Stabbed right hand**

**Clyde: Nearly-incapacitated left arm, poisoned**

**For the trivia question, you must guess correctly who had which thoughts when the countdown was going down. For example, who was thinking at 8, 7, 6, and so forth. It's a different tribute each time. You have to get all of them right for the full 50 points.**


	30. Day 1, midday: Wanderings

Day 1, midday: Wanderings

**Dorea Calis**

She laid out the supplies and announced everything to the group.

"2 hunting spears, a first-aid kit, water canteens for each of us, a bag of potato chips, actual potatoes—"

"Oh, god, I _hate _potatoes!" Rex cried. "How the hell are we supposed to find butter out here in the Arena?!" Rex demanded.

Scanning her allies, Dorea briefly wondered whether she just so happened to be the only girl at the moment in the Career pack, or if she was really a mother and these 3 were her sons that she had to care for. By that analogy, Rex was clearly the "youngest child".

_It's only for a little while, Dorea, _she told herself. _They're all wounded, so it's up to you to take care of them until they can fight for themselves. Which shouldn't be for too long, right? _

"We'll manage," Dorea reassured him. "We have our weapons to cut them with, so when it's time to eat I'll just clean the blades and we can use them like knives. To continue with our list of supplies, we also have a vial of iodine and a box of matches. Everything else was taken by the others."

"Thanks for taking inventory, Dorea," Tiberius replied. "We shall now have to head out and find a more suitable location to set up camp. I suggest the western forest. Any objections?"

There were none, but Dorea was intrigued by her ally's word choice. He was one of the last people she would have suspected of using a word like "shall" in everyday conversation. And how come he had let Steele and Noiz get away? Tiberius, of all people, was not one to be selfless for no reason.

_He wants to show us that he regards as equals. As his fellow soldiers in a battle against virtually everyone else, and that he'll set aside personal grudges for the safety of the alliance. But how long can he tolerate us?_

"Eh, we can go wherever. As the fronts of my legs get a bit better!" Rex snapped, turning to Dorea. Without another word she took out the first-aid kit and disinfected his wounds, covering them with small bandages. The gashes themselves, while particularly large, were probably nothing but scratches due to Rex's thick muscles. Perhaps he was just overly sensitive about the condition of his body? _How ironically effeminate_, she yet Rex cared nothing for the much more serious wound in his left shoulder, his tunic now stained red. Since he didn't ask, Dorea didn't examine that wound at all.

"Is there any antidote in there?" Clyde asked, scratching the swollen spot on his arm where the dart had gone in from Copper. Every time he scratched Dorea could see him wince in pain.

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "But even if there was, I doubt I'd be able to know if it would be useful. The vials of poison were given their chemical names, not a more common name. Although, judging from the way that thing looks, it's centipede venom."

"Centipedes are poisonous?" Clyde asked in surprise.

"Venomous," she corrected him as she dressed Tiberius' wound on his leg. It was a simple arrow wound, but it had damaged his calf muscle. Tiberius would probably limp a bit, and the area would probably be painful to touch. There was also the bruise on his cheek, but it was more of an embarrassment than a hindrance. "I don't know how severe it is because centipede scratches vary depending on their size. Regardless, it isn't fatal."

"Right, then!" Tiberius declared, standing up and stretching his bad leg. "Let's be off. We can't stay in one place for too long."

_He wants to say it to establish himself as the leader. I'm second in command, just like he wants._ Dorea wondered briefly if Tiberius still considered Clyde's role as scout valid now that he was poisoned.

The group headed out west, their sandals making surprisingly light, almost unnoticeable footprints on the beach. Although they could faintly hear the hum of a hovercraft that arrived at the Cornucopia to pick up the bodies, no one turned back to look at it. Dorea walked ahead first, followed by Rex, Clyde, and Tiberius bringing up the rear, due to his wounded leg. Further north, Dorea could see, the sand grew thicker and coalesced into dunes, probably making it more cumbersome to walk that way. Still, at least a few tributes might have had the sense to go that way if they felt that they could evade detection. But most likely her fellow Careers weren't ready to go that way yet.

Looking behind their group, Dorea could see small clumps of sand being tossed about by an unfelt gust of wind. Clearly the Gamemakers had the intention of hiding the tributes' footprints completely so that no one could track down anyone else with ease.

After about half an hour of walking, they arrived at an area where the beach met up with the forest. At almost the exact point where the biomes nearly seamlessly transitioned—clearly the work of the Gamemakers—there lay a what appeared to be a one-story house made entirely out of stone. Beyond it and farther west a row of cliffs could be seen jutting out from another part of the forest, where the beach ended. Dorea guessed that it would take about another hour's worth of travel to reach those cliffs, and with the sun beginning to sink in the sky it was clear that this would be a good place to set up camp.

"Should we set up camp outside, or in there?" Tiberius asked the group, referring the stone structure. Clyde, meanwhile, dropped down on the ground and lay in the sand, exhausted from walking and the centipede venom, even twitching a bit.

"Are you all right, Clyde?" Dorea asked. Out of the 3 boys with her, Clyde was the most likable due to him having a neutral attitude towards her. Plus, she couldn't shake the feeling that if she got to know him, she'd find his mind to be a lot like hers.

"I'm fine, I just need to sleep," Clyde muttered, closing his eyes. No cannon ring off, and Dorea hoped that she had been right about the centipede venom. The Rex and Tiberius didn't seem to be worried at all, instead focusing on the stone structure that was now plainly in view.

Now that they were up close they could see that it was completely square, with a small set of steps leading up to its entrance, a stone door with indents on either side at eye level, as if it were meant to be pushed back like a curtain.

"Dorea, go check it out for us!" Rex demanded with a wry grin. Dorea rolled her eyes. It was clear by his tone that he wanted her to receive some wound in there out of jealousy or revenge for her not having been wounded before. Still, the structure had surely been placed there for a reason, and it had to be something more than just a house for mutts. She remembered Gloss telling her after one of the training days that there had been talk about the Arena having a sort of theme this year; perhaps this stone structure had something to do with it.

She was still unsure about whether or not to go inside when she heard a faint twinkling sound. A few silver parachutes rained down from the sky, one small and one large. The larger one landed first, and a note on the box had Rex's name written on it in fancy cursive. Rex tore open the box like it was a Christmas gift, his eyes widening.

"Aw, yeah, a mace!" he cried, raising his weapon in the air and swinging it wildly. "Thanks, whoever!"

Dorea watched the smaller parachute float gently down, her fingers crossed that it was something for her. Finding that it was for Clyde, she opened it on his behalf, feeling extremely guilty for having wished for something for herself; it was a simple syringe with some sort of pink liquid labelled "Antivenom Chilopoda—for severe venom only." Clearly this was exactly what Clyde needed. She took the syringe and injected in Clyde's arm a few inches from the infected spot. Seconds later, Clyde's eyelids fluttered, and he groaned as if waking up from a long nap.

"What happened? Who's still alive?" he asked Dorea.

"Most of us. You were only out for a few minutes before sponsors supplied us with some medicine," she explained. Clyde smiled, starting to his feet and rubbing his arm to find it already much less painful.

"Good to see that sponsors came through for you, Clyde," Tiberius said flatly while Rex was running his fingers through the blunt sections of his mace. "We were just about to explore whatever this thing is. Rex and I will be out hunting for lunch, so I was hoping that you and Dorea could go in there and see what it's all about."

"Sure thing!" Clyde replied with an unusual amount of enthusiasm. Perhaps it was because he was eager to prove himself to the audience that the incident with Copper had simply been a fluke. "Where's my trident?" Tiberius tossed it to him while he and Rex took the hunting spears. Dorea elected to with Clyde, feeling much safer now that someone else would go in there with her.

They pulled the door aside and stepped inside. The structure consisted of a short hallway and a single wide room, the center adorned with a dusty, ornately patterned carpet. The end of the structure and the walls were lit by a few candles, but other than that there was no lighting aside from the outside. There was no one inside the structure save for the two of them, and on each side wall someone had painted an image, the overall picture not ruined by the spots between the stone slabs that made up the structure.

The image itself was intriguing enough; it seemed to be a long, brown pole that slightly widened at the top, ending in a circle. Entwined around the pole were two green snakes, mirroring each other so that they looked at each other's faces near the top of the pole. Just above their heads and just below the top of the pole were a pair of golden bird's wings.

"What does that mean?" Clyde asked Dorea. "Does it even mean anything at all?" For all that she had tried to learn in life, Dorea did not want to admit that this was an area she knew nothing about. Surely this thing had meant something in the past, but whatever it was it had surely been lost to time.

"I…think it's a fertility symbol," Dorea replied, taking a complete guess.

"Not so, my dear. But in the age of Panem, who is to blame you?" remarked a high-pitched voice.

"Was that a mutt? Can they talk now?" Clyde whispered nervously.

"In eons past, I was no mutt. I was a god," the voice replied, somehow able to hear them. "But now my purpose has changed. Step on the carpet, please. I will not harm you without your consent." The two wondered why a mutt would need their "consent" for it to harm them, but they did as they were asked. No sooner had they stepped on the carpet when a man wearing a white robe appeared in front of them, roughly the same height as them but looking slightly older. His blonde hair was mostly hidden by a metal helmet he wore which had a wing on both sides, much like the one on the image in the wall. Speaking of the image on the wall, the staff he held in his left hand matched it exactly.

"What's going on?!" Dorea demanded, surprising even herself at the forcefulness of her voice. This human, while clearly not a tribute, was clearly not meant to induce fear.

"A very good question, my dear," the man replied. "My name is Hermes. Professional mischief-maker, amateur cattle thief, manager of these crossroads between sea, wood and sand, and—perhaps most relevant to you—your guide to death. And in some capacity, I remain a messenger between gods and mortals—although the beings I serve are somewhat different than my family. You may find some of them scattered about this land."

"Cut to the chase!" Clyde snapped impatiently. "Why did the Gamemakers make you? What do we need to know that's so important?" Hermes emitted a giggle before replying:

"Many things, really, but here are the essentials; I and my associates are of an older world, a long-dead world which you and the people of Panem have nearly forgotten. Others after us remembered us, but not Panem. It is most regretful. However, our time has long since been at an end. But for the duration of these Games our wisdom and power shall be displayed once more by yourselves as you battle to the death."

"What is this guy talking about?" Clyde asked Dorea. She, however, could discern what Hermes was implying.

"You have some sort of weapon for us?" she asked. Hermes shook his head.

"No, but others do. In order to access them you must prove your superiority over me. You, after all, are both far younger and more powerful than myself, despite my divinity. As a god presiding over crossroads, consider this a sort of barter; you give me a satisfactory battle, and I shall give you a key in exchange. The key unlocks any of the other similar-looking temples around so long as they lie in a single environment, and by besting the gods that reside in them you can claim their artifacts for yourselves."

Clyde chuckled. "The Gamemakers must have had a fun time making all this up." Dorea wasn't sure whether it was wise to imply that Hermes was merely a mutt and rather than an actual god, but to her surprise he laughed along with Clyde.

"Yes, quite amusing, is it not? But we've talked enough. You may each battle me if you wish, but only individually. Rest assured that I will not kill you, but I can't say the same for my compatriots. Should you fail to beat me, then you are forbidden from fighting me again. Who is to go first? Choose wisely."

Clyde and Dorea exchanged cautious glances, unsure of what to do.

"Can we go back and tell our allies about this?" Dorea asked.

"Certainly. You are free to come and go as you wish," Hermes replied.

"No, we shouldn't do that. This could give us a serious advantage over them," Clyde told Dorea. Turning to Hermes, he asked, "Is there a temple in the forest?"

"It requires a key to be unlocked, but yes," Hermes replied. Dorea nodded at Clyde, understanding and agreeing with his intentions.

"I think I'll go first," Dorea answered Hermes.

**Noelle Valade**

She bounded through the forest with nearly the same awkward dash as she had across the sand dunes, never stopping to think how she had survived the bloodbath. All she knew was that the depressed girl from 7 had had something to do with it. She didn't care that her sandals made a crunching noise each time they stepped on a leaf; all she knew was that she just had to keep going until she found a place to rest.

In the Cornucopia she had managed to snag a backpack and a small knife. When she finally could no longer see the sand dunes behind her she stopped to check its contents. A water bottle, 3 throwing knives, and a can of sliced pears, as well as a can opener to open it with. Not much, but she could at least survive so long as she stayed hidden.

The plan she had formulated the day before now seemed like an absurd fantasy. Matthew and Julia were nowhere to be found, so whether she wanted to kill them now and take their stuff or whether she wanted to change her mind and use them as protection no longer mattered. She leaned against the trunk of an unfamiliar tree and sighed, drinking enough water to satisfy her growling stomach. Looking up, she could see that the trees around her were varied, but all strange, with unusual fruits of different colors growing on some. But then one color caught her eye; one of the trees was apparently an orange tree, its fruit ripe and clearly perfect for eating. She took some of the low-hanging fruits, putting several in her backpack save one, hoping that they wouldn't spoil in there. She used her knife to peel the one she hadn't stored away, eating it and absentmindedly tossing the skin on the ground. Seconds later she decided against that, realizing it was evidence that she had been here, and was about to pick it up when the orange skin began to rapidly sink into the ground, its very presence erased before her eyes. Only she would have ever known that it had even been there.

_Very strange. Do they not want us all finding each other so quickly?_ She wondered.

Nevertheless, as she sat against a tree she heard footsteps resonating on the ground. Someone was about to be found.

She hid behind the safety of some bushes and her resting tree to see who it was. Judging by the rate of the footsteps, this person was alone and unaware of how much noise they were making. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw who it was: Matthew Jorkis. So the pawn of her scheme had decided to wander into her after all. She immediately ran out to greet him with a smile, ignoring the machete he brandished. She knew him well enough to not be able to hurt someone if he perceived them as harmless.

"Matthew, thank goodness I've found you!" She cried, putting on the most innocent and helpless-sounding voice she could adopt. Matthew was forced to awkwardly drop his machete as she embraced him.

"Heck, didn't expect to you here. Didn't expect to see you at all," Matthew muttered. "Guess we're allies now, huh?"

"Please?" Noelle pleaded, realizing that Matthew was not exactly willing to pair himself up with her. Even if she couldn't get him to grow attached to her, could she at least get him to value her as an ally in the Games?

Matthew sighed. "I guess so. But there are a couple of rules I want ya to follow: 1, no splittin' from me unless we're under attack. You might as well save yourself. 2, no touchin' the machete. It's mine, and I don't think you know how to use it."

_And you do? _Noelle thought. _Wait—what if you actually do?_

"You could always teach me, you know, if we have the time," Noelle insisted.

"Naw, this ain't training," Matthew replied adamantly. "You should've learned how to deal with choppin' weapons then. Maybe Cecilia could've taught ya. Now come on, we gotta keep lookin'."

"For what?" Noelle asked, annoyed that her ploy hadn't worked. She couldn't disguise her whiny tone well.

"For a _safe place_," Matthew said impatiently. "Gotta get you a place to put your stuff at and hide out for the night. I plan to wait around for other people to die as long as I can."

"Well you've got that machete, maybe you can kill a few tributes to speed things up?" Noelle suggested as she picked up her bag and walked with him to who knew where. "And what do you mean by just my stuff? What about your stuff?"

"The machete's all I got," Matthew replied.

_Well, this changes everything, _Noelle decided. Her plan was back on the table, although now it was a bit modified. She had hoped to loot from Julia's and Matthew's combined inventories and survive out the Games, and that if she needed to kill she'd be able to do so with whatever weapons they had gathered. But now, Matthew's sole purpose was protection—and when she found him useless she could simply toss him aside.

Just like Ivan.

**Riley Covington**

Thank God for sunscreen.

After her alliance had madly wandered into the desert in an attempt to get the hell away from basically everybody, their run for freedom had devolved into a trot, which had in turn devolved into a walk, which in turn had devolved into a trudge. It was only after they had crossed over a particularly large dune that Lidda cried, "Open up the bags! If those bastards didn't give us anything to help us with this stupid sun, I'll tear somebody's head off!" Upon opening the bags, they found a bag of trail mix for each of them, a club, and said sunscreen.

"Oh, thank you, whoever had the idea of putting this in the Arena!" Riley cried, taking a gratuitous amount and applying some to her exposed arms, legs, and face. Her pale skin had a tendency to sunburn very easily.

"What the hell?! They don't have ANY glass shards for me?! They gave _you _a bow!" Lidda cried, pointing a chubby and accusing finger at Darius, "But they gave _me _nothing!"

"Hey, I had to tear past a wimpy so-called Career girl just to snag that for him!" Riley cried in a mock defensive tone.

"Thank you, by the way," Darius remarked, sitting down in the sand to eat some of his trail mix. He was certainly a quiet one, Riley mused. She wondered what went on in his mind before she was interrupted by Lidda.

"Heh, heh," Lidda chuckled. "How wimpy was she?"

"You could have kicked her ass with your hands and tongue tied!" Riley declared. The truth was that the girl from 4 had just not seen her coming and was probably too frantic herself to bother with fighting for the moment. If she had had a weapon, maybe the story would have been different. "Wanna use the club? It's perfect for you."

"No, you keep it," Lidda insisted. "I may be a bit crude for _some _people's tastes, but I don't pound things to a pulp! That's more your style. I'm more of a slit your throat type person, and Darius is an immobilizer. Like his mouth!"

"I'll take that as a compliment…I think," Darius remarked. Riley was beginning to grow a bit worried about Lidda's willingness to act savage if the situation demanded it. Would she die like Cecilia had, fighting off a bunch of people much tougher than her, holding her own only through adrenaline?

A twinkling sound filled the air for a brief moment. Lidda darted her head and looked around the dunes, seeing nothing.

"What the fuck was that? Are we going to be attacked? Are they summoning a mutt to kill us because we're too boring?!" Riley turned to Darius, somehow expecting an answer from him. He had his eyes trained to the sky, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun as it began to drop a little bit lower in the sky.

"No, that means sponsors. See the parachutes?" he asked, pointing upwards. Four parachutes which clearly had different contents floated down. One was marked for Darius, another for Lidda, and the other two were blank, obviously meant for the whole group.

Riley opened up the two blank ones, a bit disappointed that she hadn't gotten something. Perhaps Festus was having some trouble? Oh well, she was fine for now.

"Let's see…2 water bottles for each of us, and 3 sleeping bags. What about you guys?" She turned to Darius, who was triumphantly clutching a quiver of 10 arrows. He immediately strapped the quiver over one shoulder.

"I'll be sure to use these wisely," he declared. Lidda, however, was looking at her gift with a frown.

"What's the matter?" Riley asked.

"I CLEARLY asked for glass shards," Lidda complained, "But all I got where THESE!" she lifted up a pair of metal guantlets with knife-like blades at the fingertips.

"Oh my god, Lidda, those are Battle Claws!" Riley cried. "I didn't watch the Games much, but these are a new thing, and really useful for fighting. They can cut _way _better than glass shards, trust me!"

"If you say so," Lidda replied somewhat dismissively. Riley knew that if they ever got in a fight—and in the Hunger Games such things were inevitable—than Lidda would come to see the value of the weapons she had been given. "Hey, look, there's a note with this," Lidda remarked, her frustration quickly replaced with curiosity. She read it aloud, despite Riley and Darius not really being all that curious as to what it said:

_Don't ever give up hope while you're still alive, Lidda. Fight to your last breath, and remember that there are always people that love you, even if they're not in the Arena._

_-Effie_

"Wow, is that your escort? She seems really sweet," Darius said. "All mine did was inject himself with this weird clear substance and get himself high. I think my District partner said it was a hallucinogenic."

"SHUT UP!" Lidda cried, her anger collapsing into sobs. "_Effie _got me these, and she's much better than your stupid escort. She's the best escort ever!"

"I wasn't saying that—" Darius began, but Riley held up a hand. She didn't quite understand it herself, but she had already learned one thing about Lidda: her irritation and irritability was usually fleeting, but it took her a little bit longer to recover from being sad about something, most likely because it was compounded with a feeling of hopelessness."

"She gave me these because she believed in me," Lidda muttered. "She wants me to try and have a chance. No one, not even the guys in the glassmaking store, had this much confidence in me. They never saw as much in me as she does. Not even Katniss cared that much. She thought I was going to die and was trying to make it easier for me. Maybe Effie wanted to do that, too, but then she changed her mind."

Riley and Darius lay silent for a few minutes, securing their stuff for the continuation of their journey and filling their stomachs with nourishment. Lidda's sobs turned to sniffles, and eventually she dried her eyes and turned around.

"Come on, guys, we can go," she declared. "Sorry to have kept you both waiting."

"It's fine, Lidda," Riley said, getting up with Darius as the trio continued their trek northeast across the desert.

There was a forest to the east, and mountains to the north. The idea was that they would reach the spot the desert, forest, and mountains all met and decide where to journey next. The mountains probably had less tributes, but were harder to traverse, and the forest had the opposite problem.

The group armed themselves and trudged on in silence, and while the sun still beat down on them they kept pressing forward, and Riley was able to at least be reassured that she wouldn't get sunburned so long as she applied sunscreen every half hour or so. Plus, the sun would set in a few hours, and Hunger Games arenas tended to be less active at night, as if they were willing to give their tributes some sleep.

From atop one of the dunes they could see a stone structure far off in the distance, but moments after they had all got a good look at it they heard a rustling sound from the next dune ahead of them. Sand began to shift, and in moments the first traditional mutt of the Games emerged, a wooden pole grasped in each hand. It was a 7-foot tall, black-furred and mangy creature, with pointed ears like a desert jackal, but the shape of its body was more like that of giant rat's. It glared at the tributes that had entered its domain, emitting a roar that it biologically should not have been capable of producing.

"Oh, shit!" Riley could hear Lidda cry as the trio scattered when the mutt jabbed one of its poles at the group, having leaped from its dune to theirs. "We must have been too boring!" The mutt lunged forward at Lidda upon hearing her speak, opening its mouth to perhaps snap its jaws at her. Lidda defensively swiped at its face with one of her claws, creating 3 scars on its face that were deep enough to make it bleed. The mutt jerked its head back a bit, deciding to focus its attention on a more vulnerable target. Riley stood with fear when she saw it make eye contact with her, but she quickly steeled her nerves and swung her club at its leg, straining her ears to see if there was a satisfying crunch.

"Darius, shoot!" she cried almost reflexively, but the boy was already on the task. He shot in the back of the mutt's knee, almost at the exact spot where Riley had whacked with her club. Enraged, the mutt turned to its most recent attacker and slammed one of its poles into Darius, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling off the dune into the sand. The mutt charged down on all fours after him, with Riley and Lidda in hot pursuit.

"Oh, god, I shouldn't have told him to do that!" Riley cried frantically to Lidda, who was struggling to keep up with her and not tumble down the dune.

The mutt was already jabbing at Darius with its poles all over his body, and Riley felt sick when she saw that Darius was completely helpless to its attacks. She could clearly see that he was unconscious, but…

A figure appeared from the other side of the dune the mutt had emerged from, dashing to Darius' body and blocking a potentially fatal jab with the mutt's pole with their own weapon, which was quite similar to what the mutt was wielding save for one crucial difference; this object had three sharp, thick hooks on the end.

Not bothering to even take a good look and who the tribute was, Riley took her club and leaped on the mutts back from her vantage point atop the dune. Lidda did the same, albeit more clumsily, and the two of them proceeded to relentlessly attack the mutt before it shook them off, sending them falling on either side of it.

When Riley looked up, she could see who the fourth tribute in this battle was, and watched as she took advantage of the mutts' momentary distraction to rake her weapon across its face, neck, and chest, the hooks sinking deep enough for the mutt's throat to be slit. It fell dead almost right beside Darius' unconscious body.

"What are you, so kind of super-human?" Riley demanded weakly as she was helped up.

"No," Noiz replied. "I just got a cool weapon that could reach at the bastard. Didn't think I'd see you again, Riley—or Lidda, for that matter."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a hero. Now help us with Darius!" Riley cried in frustration. While she was certainly grateful for Noiz's help, it was clear her intentions hadn't exactly been selfless. Still, she _had _tried to block the mutt from possibly killing Darius. Upon examining his body, she was relieved to find him still breathing. He even faintly opened his eyes and smiled at her.

"Good, you guys got him," he said weakly. "Could you help me up?" Riley took her ally in slung his arm over her shoulders. Without even having to be asked, Lidda took Darius' other side despite being shorter than he. But Noiz simply looked on curiously, perhaps wondering what other tributes were doing in the desert. Riley was thinking the same thing.

"You saved our lives back there. Thanks! Guess you're not so bad for a sneaky little spy," Riley remarked as the trio searched for their stuff to continue onward, albeit at a slower pace than before.

"And you're not so bad yourself, especially if you'll all be so kind as to return the favor," Noiz replied.

"What do you mean, 'return the favor'?!" Lidda demanded. "We all kind of had the crap beaten out of us recently!"

"Don't worry, no deaths will be involved if it all goes smoothly," Noiz replied. "It's just that there's a building out here that I can't get into. You 3 are going to help me break into it."

Riley looked at their rescuer incredulously. Had the alliance just been hijacked?

**AN: I apologize for the lack of deaths this chapter. But hey, some people ALMOST died! The day isn't over yet, so I'll be sure to get some more POVs in for the next chapter. And hopefully some more deaths.**

**A few things to clarify: the hunger thing hasn't started yet, so your tributes' hunger isn't going down, even if I didn't show where they are on the map. I already have decided who is where, even if they've hardly been mentioned at all since the Games.**

**Also, there are 3 temples at the intersections of the various "biomes" of the Arena, each inhabited by different—and possibly more obscure—deities. Not all of the gods in this will be Greco-Roman, although a lot of them are. The tributes have to fight and defeat one of the deities and one of the four unlocked temples to gain access to any of the other temples, and then fight the deities in those temples (who are bit less merciful) to gain their artifacts. But it will be worth it, trust me. **

**And for the record, no, I never did read the Percy Jackson series (yeah, I know, shoot me). I already knew about all the Greek gods, and basing them off of how they may have been portrayed in those books would have been too much of a crossover. So I apologize to anybody who was expecting that sort of thing. I decide what each god's personality will be like—and in some cases, which parts of their personalities to show.**

**Also, I'll be taking a break from the Arena once I reach the top 16, top 12, final 8, and possibly the final 4 to show you some scenes from the Capitol and how they're handling all this.**

**Trivia question: Name a fictional universe in which battle claws are a standard weapon. There's one that I'm thinking of in particular, but if you haven't heard of it then you can answer with something else, so long as you give me an explanation and maybe some proof.**

**Also, the answer to the last trivia question was:**

**8. Tiberius**

**7. Copper**

**6. Thomas**

**5. Rocko**

**4. Teddy**

**3. Steele**

**2. Noiz**

**1. Denelle**


	31. Day 1, evening: Played for fools

Day 1, Evening: Played for fools

**Denelle Ardley**

The bitterness of her new reality had slapped her in the face.

The group had been walking eastward, away from the Careers, at as fast a pace as they could go. But even that wasn't much. Denelle had pleaded with Copper, who had been leading the group, to take a break halfway between the Cornucopia and the eastern forest, but she had received no reply. Pulse had to help her along most of the way, constantly jerking her head back behind her to see if she was doing all right. Thomas was in the middle, and Elodie brought up the rear, perhaps even slower and less accustomed to all this walking. Denelle felt a pang of pity for the young girl from 6; who would take care of them if she was gone?

Speaking of absence, Mohan's death felt like a persistent itch that she had to keep from scratching. She had trusted in him to be able to make his way to them in the bloodbath, and so she really hadn't noticed him struggling until he cried out for help. But everyone else in her alliance seemed to ignore him, except for Elodie, who only gave a glance. Denelle herself had been too busy trying to gather supplies, and when Mohan had cried out Thomas had touched her briefly, indicating that he wanted her to stay right where she was. She knew then that they had never considered Mohan to be worth much to the alliance; only an accessory that they could afford to lose.

_They—we—all let him die. There wasn't much we could do—but was that a good reason not to help? _The closest thing she had done was call out his name when she saw him die, but chances were he had never even heard it.

There was technically Copper, but Denelle doubted how well is healing abilities were no matter how much medicine might have been stored in those vials. She had asked Elodie about it, but Elodie had said that she couldn't recognize the vials due to Copper having stored them all away in one of the backbacks they had salvaged.

_But at least we got a lot; _Denelle thought hopefully. She and Thomas had grabbed nearly every piece of food and bag that was on their side of the table, and they had even carried a whole crate filled with something thanks to Pulse, who had hanged back and took the heavier loads from them. That girl was certainly strong for her age; Denelle sometimes wondered if she was really the youngest of their alliance despite being the oldest.

She sighed with relief when the group finally made camp on the outskirts of the eastern forest. A carpet of grass covered the ground, and the air became distinctly cooler once they got under the shade of the pines, cedars and occasional redwoods that crowded the biome.

But while Denelle herself was happy to just relax where they were, the others were intrigued by the stone structure that lay at the spot where the desert, forest and ocean met. At their insistence she went in with them, too tired to protest and too afraid to be alone in the Arena.

After taking a moment to observe the stone interior and observe the image on the walls—that of a man with two pairs of wings, a tall hat, long hair and a drooping beard. He also held some sort of bucket. About a minute after entering they all heard a loud voice boom out:

"It is good that you have arrived. The agony of isolation I have experienced _far _exceeds that of the others around here. At least, I believe it does. But at least I, like they, actually _had _worshippers." Denelle nearly screamed when she saw a mutt—no, a being—appear before them that looked very little like the man in the image save for his face. He had the same hat, hair and beard, but that was where the similarities ended. His body was naked, dark blue, and humanoid, but he had no muscles or genitals to be mistaken for some sort of blue human. In one hand he held a giant golden bow, and in the other an equally large net.

Denelle was wracked with confusion and terror. Why had the Gamemakers sent this mutt to destroy them? Was this some sort of test? Did her allies know something about this place that she didn't? Despite her alarm, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for this creature; he was clearly angry about something, and perhaps if he wasn't a mutt programmed to kill then she could consider cheering him up.

"My name is Elodie Kruger, and these are my associates," Elodie declared, stepping forward to greet this thing. "What is your purpose in these Games?"

"I am Marduk, formerly a ruler of the gods. I rose to power when the mother of them all, the wretched Tiamat, tried to unleash her fury. I was elevated as king in her place. But that is all in the past." Marduk proceeded to explain his function, the theme of the Arena, and the rules about battling him.

When he got to that last part, Denelle knew she had had enough. "Listen, this is helpful to our alliance and all, but I can't fight well. If you would please let me go—"

"Certainly!" Marduk interrupted. "I hope there is a strong one among you."

"I'll fight you!" Copper cried. Denelle could see a spark in his eyes that she hadn't noticed before. What made him so eager to challenge a god? Marduk smiled, lowering his head to look at Copper, while she and the others backed away to the short hallway near the entrance.

"You are much like my last opponent," he remarked, shooting out his arms. Suddenly, Denelle found herself encased in a strange and sturdy white bubble that she couldn't break out of. Around her she could see that everyone except for Copper was in the same state. Without even having wanted to, she was now the spectator of a fight.

Marduk shrank himself down slightly so that he was just a head taller than Copper, and then he threw his net forward, trapping Copper in it. His Warhammer was obviously ineffective in breaking the net, and once Copper was thoroughly trapped, electricity crackled through the net. Copper winced from the pain, but Denelle could see that it was not enough to kill him. An arrow magically appeared when Marduk let go of his electrified net, and he used his bow to shoot at Copper with it, who had just withdrawn one of his vials of medicine out, perhaps to heal himself. The arrow not only pierced Copper in the arm but also seemed to blow him back several feet, as if it also functioned like a strong gust of wind. Copper's back slammed against the wall, and Denelle breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that his head didn't get bumped there as well. She was obviously no expert, but a strong blow to the head like that give Copper a concussion, if not kill him.

And then, as Copper freed himself from the net and opened his vial of medicine, she thought, _What if Marduk wasn't trying to?_ She pondered this for a moment as Copper splashed the contents of his vial—looks like it hadn't been medicine at all—into Marduk's face, forcing his hands to his eyes. Copper wasted no time grabbing his Warhammer and delivering a crushing blow to Marduks' arm—the one holding the bow. The god toppled backwards as Marduk reared up for another strike, this time at the head. The hammer came crashing down on the helpless god, who seemed to vanish into thin air after Copper gave what should have been a fatal blow.

Denelle felt herself being lowered with her allies, and the bubbles popped once they touched the ground. Marduk reappeared, looking unharmed, and held a key in his outstretched hand, which he promptly gave to Copper.

"Well done. Here is your reward!" Copper snatched the key and said something to Elodie that Denelle quite couldn't catch. Everyone else filed out of the temple, probably to either set up camp or go hunting.

"Can I stay for a moment, Marduk?" Denelle asked.

"Very well. Do you wish to fight me and work independently of your allies?" the god asked. After being defeated so easily, he just didn't seem so threatening anymore.

"Who was this other opponent of yours? Tiamat? And what about Copper reminds you of her?"

Marduk proceeded to explain an interesting, but mostly useless story. However, Denelle got the one piece of information she needed:

Copper was dangerous, volatile, and unfit for the alliance.

**Elodie Kruger**

"Copper and I are going out for food, possibly edible plants and herbal medicines," Elodie announced to Thomas and Pulse, who didn't seem to be doing much of anything. Denelle was still in the temple, but her whereabouts were inconsequential. She was a bit peeved when they said absolutely nothing, not even looking at her when she and her dangerous pet left.

_If only I could make everything plain to you idiots, then you'd show me respect!_

But she bottled inside like she had done for so many years as she and Copper explored the woods.

The various trees were home to numerous animals such as rabbits, squirrels, and birds, but after catching enough to say that they had done something useful they got down to business.

"Marduk didn't try to kill me," Copper explained. "He could have, but he didn't."

"Most likely it's part of the Arena dynamics," Elodie suggested. "The gods are fearsome and powerful, but they can't kill."

"What makes you so sure?" Copper demanded. Elodie thought for a moment of all the possible excuses she could make before deciding on something easy.

"Intuition," she replied. "They don't want us all dying _too_ fast."

They came to clearing in the woods, and their quarry lay just in front of them; a stone temple almost exactly like Marduk's, save for a keyhole instead of indents to pull it back. They were just about to proceed when they heard footsteps.

"Quick, hide!" she rasped to Copper. "I don't want some tribute getting an opportunity that only _we _deserve to have!"

Seconds later she found out that the footsteps had not come from a tribute at all, but a mutt. This one was a large lion, twice the size of an ordinary one.

"He's probably some sort of temple guard," Elodie concluded, whispering to Copper as the lion walked off. "We'll just sneak past him. Chances are he's not allowed to go inside or something." Before Copper could reply a twinkling sound was heard, followed by a soft thud behind them. Turning around, they saw a sponsor gift in an incredibly long box. Opening it revealed…

"Oh my god!" Elodie cried, almost betraying her presence to the lion. Copper looked at it gleefully.

"It's a rocket launcher? How were they able to get this here?! I don't even think this is legal!" Copper lifted it and placed over his shoulder. The device was already loaded, and all it would take for him to annihilate someone, even from a distance, was proper aim. Elodie glanced at Copper, then the lion, then the temple, and then a note in the box:

_The Presidency certainly has its perks, as you can see. There is only one shot. Use with extreme caution while you have the opportunity._

_-President Matthias Atkinson_

Shortly afterward, another parachute rained down, this time much smaller. Elodie opened it up and found that it had a small, seemingly ordinary apple.

_Feed it to someone you despise._

_-President Matthias Atkinson_

"We can take out that lion now!" Copper whispered, aiming the weapon at the lion as he began to walk away from them.

"Wait!" Elodie rasped. "We can't just waste this on someone that's going away anyway! What about _them?_" They both knew she was referring to the tributes.

"Yeah, I was kind of hoping to kill them a bit more…slowly," Copper explained. "The lion can die in any way, though."

"But you're strong enough to take it on _without _the rocket launcher, right?" Elodie asked.

"I guess so."

"We need to save this for later. If you can kill the lion regularly, then we can save the rocket launcher for much more dangerous tributes, like a Career. We can kill Thomas, Denelle and Pulse whenever we feel like it later on."

"But won't they get suspicious when they see this?"

"Right. So we'll just kill the lion, leave the rocket launcher inside the temple, lock it, and then come back. We can deal with the others some other way, but I think the rocket launcher shouldn't be wasted on people who can't even fight."

"Then how do you suppose we get rid of them, then?" Copper asked.

To Elodie, the answer couldn't have been more obvious.

**Thomas Kerr**

He twiddled his thumbs nervously, eyeing the entrance to the temple.

"It's been a couple of minutes, and she hasn't come out yet. What's she doing in there?" Thomas asked. He started to go in but, Pulse grabbed him and pulled him back with surprising strength.

"Just let her do what she wants, she's fine. If she wanted to fight the guy, then we'd hear screaming or a cannon or something. So long as nobody dies, everything is fine with us."

"What about Mohan?" Thomas challenged. He saw Pulse freeze for a bit, obviously feeling conflicted about what to say.

"Well…he's dead," she declared finally. "All we can really do is remember him. The Arena's not the place for funerals. His parents can do that. Do you think he'd want to be cremated?"

_So you haven't changed, _Thomas thought. _You still want to see death the way you used to. Fine by me if you want to get yourself killed._

Just then, Denelle emerged. She looked around nervously and asked, "Where are Copper and Elodie?"

"Out," Pulse replied. "They wanted to go see if they could find a place to use that key, maybe snag some food. Venison would be great, huh?"

"Oh," Denelle replied somewhat curtly. "Hey, Thomas, can we talk?" He sat up in realization and turned to her eagerly. Now was the time to show her how wrong she'd been.

"About Copper and Elodie? Absolutely!" he cried. "They're not who they say they are. All that 'medicine' crap they've been talking about is just poison. They just want us to be their cannon fodder for later!"

"Wait, hold up," Pulse said, raising up her hands. "If they wanted us for cannon fodder, wouldn't they have just shoved us in front of the Careers and had us slaughtered in the bloodbath? I mean, isn't _everybody _here just technically using each other? So they're basically just like us. Right, Denelle?"

"I…I hope so, Pulse," Denelle said, looking a bit more hopeful. Thomas could see that Pulse was just trying to keep Denelle from getting stressed. Maybe she had some sort of escape plan that he wasn't in on?

"What's going on with you two? Why are you both in denial about this?"

"I am NOT in denial!" Denelle protested. "Marduk told me how Copper has this mad look in his eyes. I'm with you on him, Thomas, he's dangerous—but I'm more worried for Elodie, especially with the way she trusts him."

"No, that's not it. Elodie is _controlling _Copper, he's her bodyguard! And they wanted me to convince you both that whatever they do is justified. But there is no way in hell I'm doing that. I just told you both the truth, and they didn't hide it from me!"

"Thomas," Pulse asked casually, as if she had only heard part of what he had said, "Are we in denial—or are you just paranoid? What do you think, Denelle? How about you decide for yourself, and not let other people do it for you?" Thomas wasn't quite sure why Pulse was so protective of Denelle, but he presumed that maybe it had to do with their shared optimism. Neither of them really _wanted _to face the reality of the Games, but for Denelle it had already presented itself. She just wanted to pretend that it wasn't there.

"Thomas…" Denelle began, "As much as I want to believe you, I feel like you might have it wrong. We can have a difference of opinion as to their true motives, but…I just don't want to believe you."

"So you won't, is that it?!" Thomas demanded, standing up in frustration. "You just want to be the naïve, happy girl you got to be before the Games, huh?! Well, too bad! Welcome to the real world, Denelle, where sometimes people are just BAD! BAD people, they're all over the Arena! Do you get that?!"

"Don't be condescending!" Pulse snapped back. "She's not a baby! Why are you so mean to your District partner? And she's older than you, how can you claim to understand people and life and stuff better than someone with more experience with it?"

"That's just it," Thomas muttered, "She _doesn't _have any experience." He was tired of talking to these two, convinced that there was nothing he could do to save them. He got up and made his way back west, hoping that maybe the desert would somehow be more hospitable. Anything was better than being nearby Copper, Elodie, and their unfortunate victims.

_Sorry, Cecilia. Denelle is too stupid to save._

**Pulse Fallow**

That had been a close one! But now everything was perfect. She and Denelle could escape together, not having to deal with the rest of these crazy people. Of course, at some point she'd have to concede to her that Thomas had been right, but that could come later what was important now was that she and Denelle got out of here, maybe to some other part of the forest.

"Well, now all those crazy people are gone, let's go out for a walk or something, what do you say?" she asked Denelle.

"I don't know. I don't want to go anywhere, and I'm tired of fleeing, but I can't stay here. Not when my allies are all not who I thought they were." Pulse reached over and gave a quick peck on the cheek. Too bad Denelle would never appreciate it.

"Come on, let's go. Copper and Elodie aren't the best people to be around," she insisted. "Now, how much food do we have?"

"We ate most of our food supply during lunch," Denelle explained. "That's why they went out to go hunting."

"Say what?" Pulse asked aloud, trying to keep up her usual demeanor to disguise her worry. If they fled now with what they had, they'd have to hunt for themselves, and chances were that Copper and Elodie could catch them more easily that way.

Just then, those same two people everyone had been dreading to some degree emerged from the woods. Copper carried a lion over his shoulders, and Elodie held some rabbits and other small game animals.

"Where is Copper?" she asked in that usual polite voice of hers.

"He went west," Pulse gulped, realizing that now it was impossible to leave. If she tried to leave they could chase after her and kill her, but did she dare stay for dinner? Would they kill Denelle if she didn't?

"Why?" she asked curiously as she took her knife and began to skin the lion. Watching a previously fearsome animal be mutilated made Pulse nauseous. If they took out that beast easily, there was no telling what they'd do with her? Pulse had this undeniable feeling that those two had tampered with all the meat, or at least with the specific sections they planned on giving her. If she refused, they'd know she was on to them, and then they'd kill her. Why hadn't she just gone with Thomas?

_Because you had wanted to be ALONE with Denelle. Like Thomas would have even cared if you said you had a crush on her! Why did you let this matter so much?! You promised yourself you were going to be DIFFERENT and SPECIAL, and here you are, the same goddamn person you were when you came to the Capitol, about to get POISONED! Not to mention you alienated one friend and are going to die with the other._

_Teddy, you don't think this is funny, do you? Why couldn't you have come with us? You'd have seen right through these people and told them off, and then we'd probably all be in the final 8 by now. I'm so sorry I didn't see things the way you did._

As Elodie handed out the lion meat to everyone minutes later after it was cooked—Copper ravenously ate into his first, as if to prove that it wasn't poisoned—Pulse decided that she had only one option left. Just like Teddy, she had figured out too late that the only answer was just to run away. She watched as Denelle took a bite, her eyes widening when she swallowed, realizing that something was off. Pulse had made a motion to mimic eating, but upon seeing Denelle clutch her chest she bolted, the cannon fire ringing in her ears.

She hadn't gotten far when she felt a small prick in the back of her neck. Unable to move, she collapsed on the ground in front of the temple. The last thing she heard was a crunch.

And the last thing she felt was utter shame.

**Thomas Kerr**

_Two cannons. I was right. Just keep running!_

He made it all the way back to the Cornucopia and crawled up on the now-empty table. Why had he allowed himself to stay with these people? Why couldn't he have just cared about himself instead of others? People in his family's business weren't supposed to care so much about their associates!

_But no. You just had to be different. You just had to think about giving them all better conditions, better lives, better pay. You just had to care too much not to just leave them alone._

"What brings you to my temporary abode?" a voice asked. Thomas jumped. Was there some sort of god of the Cornucopia?

"I'm running away!" Thomas cried, feeling just like the 13 year old he was meant to be. "My allies are crazy! They tried to kill us! I tried to save my friends, but…they wouldn't listen."

"Hm. And here I was, thinking that you were better than that," the voice replied, possibly from behind a pillar. In the twilight Thomas could make out a shape, clearly that of a tribute. A boy.

"They have poison and tons of supplies. They're in the eastern forest!" Thomas cried frantically, getting up and starting out again when he realized that this tribute wasn't a safe one to be around. But then he felt himself being tackled, and his throat slit.

"Thank you for at least willingly imparting your information. Quite a shame you're useless. Should have been more like your parents," muttered Rocko.

**Dade Novak**

Everything was set, and the footsteps indicated that victims would show up soon.

"Now, keep quiet, Ssam!" Dade hissed. He could hear a set of thumps, accompanied by lighter steps.

"Matthew, we've been wondering for hours!" the voice of a girl whined. "When can we rest? I'm tired."

"Soon, I promise," a boy replied. "There was this stone thingy I saw earlier, we can probably go in there. Might've seen a kid, too, but he was a quick fella. Probably gone now." Dade knew of the "stone thingy" they were talking about, but it wasn't much to look at. Just some dumb thing with a keyhole he couldn't get into. Why had they even put that in here, anyway?

Meanwhile, the two dumbasses were walking just where he needed them too. The guy had a machete, and the girl nothing at the moment, although there was probably something in that backpack she was carrying. The guy was definitely worth taking out first, unless of course he did what Dade wanted.

And he did. The big guy stepped on a root, which triggered the branch, which snapped in his face. Dade would have liked to make something better, but of course Xenophon had been uncooperative and unable to send him proper trapping supplies. Nevertheless, he leaped down on Matthew's back, noting that he had dropped his machete.

Unfortunately, his strength was greater than expected. Matthew knocked him off easily, sending him crashing into the much-weaker girl, who was probably just as surprised to crash into him as he was. Wasting no time, he took his knife and stabbed her in the neck, happy to silence her whiny voice forever.

"Noelle!" the big guy cried as a cannon rang out.

"What, were you guys allies or some-SHIT!" Dade bolted when he saw that the big guy had picked up his machete, fleeing for his life. After running for what seemed like ages, he stopped, huffing and puffing, to find that the guy hadn't been trailing him. In fact, he hadn't followed him at all.

"His loss!" Dade chuckled aloud. But wait…

"Sssam? Were you in my pocket when I jumped down? Ssam?" After feeling his tunic, there was no response.

A twinkling noise seemed to resonate, perhaps in his mourning. No, wait, that was just a silver parachute meant to hand out a sponsor gift. Inside the box was nothing but a simple note in the telltale tally marks of a secret message from Xenophon. Dade held it close to his face, trying to avoid letting a camera see it. He slowly deciphering it as:

_Stone thing needs key. Keys are southeast and northeast. Prize good for you. North safer._

_-X_

Dade wanted to heed Xenophon's advice, but going northeast meant getting farther away from Ssam. Regardless of whatever prize lay in that temple, he could not leave his only friend and ally in the Arena behind. And since he wasn't a tribute, there was no way of finding out what would happen to him.

**Clyde Morrissey**

_She's strong. Stronger than Thaliea._

Clyde watched as Dorea fought Hermes, at a slight disadvantage due to her inability to fly. Hermes, despite being a deity, seemed to have a sort of attack pattern, flying around and blasting at Dorea with a bolt of green energy from his staff, only swooping down when he felt that she was vulnerable. But the problem was that Dorea never stayed that way for long, and Hermes' torn robes and scarred face gave testified this.

He watched from his bubble as Dorea eyed Hermes after he had swooped up once more, one of the wings on his helmet now cut and bleeding. Dorea dodged Hermes' blast and thrust one of her swords at him when he tried to charge towards her, shooting her and point-blank range. Dorea was flung back—apparently the blasts just felt like ranged punches—but Hermes toppled backwards, the sword having struck his chest. As he fell backwards his body seemed to vanish, and Dorea picked herself up and dusted herself as Clyde was lowered down.

"He was tough to kill," she said breathlessly. "He wouldn't stop moving around and hitting me. But he never seemed to hurt me too much."

"Is he dead?" Clyde asked. Hermes reappeared, perfectly fine, to indicate that he was not.

"Excellent work! And here I was, thinking you were about to give up!" Hermes told Dorea, handing her the key. She took it with a smile.

_Perhaps she's forgotten that this is no mere game. Now is your chance! Hermes won't care._

_I don't know. I need her alive. Although I should try and keep her exhausted, I guess._

_And just how will you do that?_

Clyde patted Dorea on the back as they left the temple, finding that night was finally creeping on the Arena. Tiberius and Rex had already returned with two silver parachutes for Dorea that had landed just outside the temple, and…a bag of cookies?

"They call'em 'Oreos'!" Rex cried, stuffing himself silly with these strange chocolate cookies that sandwiched a bit of cream. "Want some?"

"Those look too sugary for me, no thanks," Clyde said. _He actually thinks this goes right up there with the mace he got?_

"What did you two kill? And how long were we in there?" Dorea asked, opening her boxes to find knives and trapping supplies.

"Nothing but game, no tributes. The cannons weren't from us."

Neither Clyde nor Dorea felt like admitting that they hadn't hurt a thing from inside the temple.

"And you were in there for a few hours by the time we got back," Tiberius explained. "I take it you two had some trouble in there?"

"We shouldn't have gone in," Dorea explained. "There was this mutt in there, and it took a _long_ time to kill."

"These temples are dangerous," Clyde added to discourage Tiberius and Rex from going in for themselves. "Not worth going into. Gamemaker traps, really. They'll probably disappear in a few days when we stop falling for them."

"But at least we know now," Tiberius concluded. "This Arena is probably very large and designed to give the lessers plenty of places to hide, and the stone structures are probably meant to play into their attempts at elusiveness." Clyde felt like breathing a sigh of relief. He hadn't expected Tiberius to be so willing to accept their answer.

_Something's not right about him. That commanding attitude is gone. He still wants to be in charge, but not like before. He's trying to get on your good side so that you and Dorea won't rebel._

He started a fire and cooked all of the food that necessitated it. As the group ate dinner—save for Rex, who was feasting on Oreos—Tiberius asked, "So, why do you call them temples?" Clyde froze, leaving Dorea to pick up the slack.

"They look like that, don't you think?" she remarked. "It was just sort of a euphemistic name we thought up together." Clyde nodded to not make it look so obvious that it was just a simple lie. After dinner, he impulsively glanced up at the night sky, awaiting the list of the dead. Soon enough, they came. Most of the names and faces were unrecognizable to him.

_But what does it matter? You survived another day, and they did not._

**Julia Kellson**

The blaring of the Capitol anthem woke her up, and she had to catch herself to not fall out of her tree. How many tributes found themselves in her positon, she wondered, only able to grab minimal supplies at the Cornucopia—in her case, just some crackers, water, and a blanket—and then somehow surviving a whole day in which she was supposed to have become a corpse or a murderer?

But Julia still had yet to become either one of those things, and she almost reflexively shook her head when she saw the names and faces of the dead before her.

Mohan Sim, District 3. She hadn't known him well, but he had told a nice story in his interview. She hadn't expected him to live very long anyway, but it was still saddening to know that his body was somewhere in a hovercraft, perhaps already starting to rot away.

Cecilia Banggai, District 7. Julia had glimpsed her fighting the Careers, so her death wasn't a surprise, but somehow being informed of it a second time seemed so much more heartbreaking. This girl, she realized, had died so that she and so many others who probably didn't deserve it could escape. How had she felt in her final moments? And why had she done it? Julia decided that she'd never know.

Thomas Kerr, District 8. Julia didn't know much about him, either, but she had remembered something about an alliance he was in. Had it gone wrong?

Denelle Ardley, District 8. The happy girl. Yep, the alliance had definitely backfired. But why were the girl from 6 and the boy from 5 still alive, then?

Noelle Valade, District 9. Julia's jaw nearly dropped. Her? The girl that had given her the advice just a few days ago? But how? Julia felt a lump in her throat, but she took a deep breath and kept it down. This was the Hunger Games. She couldn't even be surprised if—

Teddy Graves, District 11. Julia had been right next to him on the pods at the bloodbath, and she hadn't seen him run alongside her to the Cornucopia. Had he really had so little confidence in himself that he had felt like giving up?

Pulse Fallow, District 11. So she hadn't survived, either. Poor girl, she had seemed so enthusiastic about stuff, particularly graves and funerals. But somehow, Julia felt that she hadn't embraced her own death.

The names and faces vanished. 7 dead today. How many would die tomorrow? Julia felt that it wasn't right to guess, but she found her mind lingering on Matthew. He was alive, but Noelle was not. Matthew, as she knew, had difficulty trusting people, and Noelle had rejected alliances. She couldn't shake the feeling that it had been connected somehow. Had her decision to be alone prolonged her life, or had it been shortened?

The questioned agonized her as she tried to go to sleep.

**AN: I hope there was enough death here to make up for the previous chapter. To be honest, I don't like doing it, because I feel like I have to do every tribute justice and develop their character enough…but someone people just had to get the short end of the stick.**

**To the trio of Denelle, Thomas, and Pulse in general: I really liked you 3, and I believe you could have gotten very far if you Elodie and Copper had not been in this SYOT, perhaps replaced by different people. But the difference between you and them is that they had the right mindset for the Games, and you 3 did not. I had considered making just one of you live so that you could sort of "learn" that being in the Hunger Games requires you to be ruthless and look upon others only as temporary obstructions, but I felt that alone you would all be even more helpless.**

**Denelle Ardley—You were so friendly and optimistic, and incapable of really seeing anything wrong with anyone. Sadly, that is not the way of the Hunger Games. I wanted to make you see what the problem was with looking at people as if they can do little wrong on purpose, but you were only just beginning to doubt your life's philosophy when your life came to an end.**

**Pulse Fallow—You I wanted to live most out of the 3, because I felt like you would have the easiest time surviving on your own and turning yourself around, but I thought that if it really came down to it you would run away too late, just like Teddy. Your major flaw was that even though you saw the danger, and saw just how scary death really was, you didn't want to see it. You wanted to think of death just as you had before, but in the Hunger Games, nonchalant-ness doesn't fly, either. I sort of intentionally made your final thoughts a lot like Teddy's, with you regretting that you hadn't seen what was right in front of you. And the saddest part about killing you off was that I didn't get to show people that you were more than just "that lesbian who likes graves and stuff". I hope the afterlife is everything you imagined it to be—and so much more.**

**Thomas Kerr—You were perhaps the most "aware" of the danger that Copper and Elodie posed of the trio, but your weakness was that you cared too much. You wanted to convince Denelle and Pulse of the truth, but you gave up, thinking that you could at least save yourself. But that was not to be. Rocko had to be somewhere in the Arena, after all, and unlike you he was an actual criminal.**

**Noelle Valade—You were perhaps the easiest to kill, but only because no one else seemed to like you. And yet I held off on it even though I could just as easily have done so in the bloodbath. How ironic, that I had to treat you just like Ivan. I'm so sorry :(**

**Also, the rocket launcher WAS the mystery gift. I did not expect someone to get it so early, but just because Copper left it back at the temple for now doesn't mean we won't see it later ;)**

**I hope to show the next day in one chapter rather than 2—I was trying to make each chapter around 5,000 words, but let me know how much you can afford to read. I don't want to exceed 10,000 unless I have to.**

**Finally, I know I didn't get to show every tribute receiving their sponsor gifts. They'll get them the next time they or their alliance gets a POV (and I promise they won't randomly die right before getting something useful).**

**Current wounds:**

**Dorea—fatigued**

**Tiberius—a few minor cuts and bruises, slightly healed wounded leg**

**Steele: several gashes and cuts, nothing serious**

**Riley—exhausted and weak**

**Copper—bruised shoulders**

**Darius—battered and sore**

**Lidda—exhausted and weak**


	32. Day 2, morning:Battles mortal and divine

Day 2, morning: Battles mortal and divine

**Steeleia Sharpe**

Miles of walking in the sand hadn't diminished the guilt in her mind.

She, Amruen and Thaleia had said little to each other on their first day, although Thaleia was able to reassure Amruen of her good intentions. She had warned them, however, that at some point she'd probably have to go back if the alliance still held and say something to Tiberius to prove her loyalty to him.

"Just get away, while you can," Amruen had encouraged her. "Don't worry about that bastard. He can't hurt you if you're not with him."

"He'll find a way to give me hell to pay, I'm sure," Thaleia insisted.

Steele, who had never thought of herself as the aloof, silent type before, had hardly said anything yesterday. This morning, however, she awoke to find Amruen standing over her, looking expectantly at her. Steele screamed, forgetting who he was for a moment before sitting up, finding her hair covered in sand. She thought back to last night, remembering that the group had slept under the stars against some dunes. Also, she had been silently crying, but now her eyes obviously didn't show it.

"I'm so sorry! Did I scare you?" Amruen asked worriedly. He stretched out his hand and helped Steele up, although she was perfectly capable of picking herself up.

"I told you that would freak her out!" Thaleia laughed. "You can't just get in a girl's face like that, she has personal space!" Amruen shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Sorry," he muttered to Steele.

"That's fine, let's just get going. Maybe we can just wait out the Games," she said hopefully as they set off. "I won't have to kill anybody that doesn't deserve it."

"I doubt it. The Capitol wants blood. 7 people dead isn't enough for them," he remarked. "I don't want them cheering my corpse, but if it comes down to it…" he didn't finish his sentence, instead marching onward with Thaleia.

_Maybe they'll listen,_ Steele thought. _You just have to keep up with them for a bit. _But she was still concerned that they wouldn't understand, and if that was the case then she decided she'd rather keep her mouth shut. For once, she would actually like someone like Tiberius to come crashing in and break the monotony. Alone they might be able to kill him.

They were beginning to see a stone structure in the distance as the mountains loomed closer, and Steele could feel her surroundings cooling down slightly. Just then a chime resounded, and parachutes appeared in the sky, descending to their location. There was one addressed to each of them plus an extra one for Thaleia. Steele opened hers to find an assortment of bandages, most likely meant for any kind of physical wound she could acquire. She wrapped one around her arm and another around her leg, the throbbing pain that had been accompanying those areas for a while muffled. There were plenty of extras, and Steele put them inside a backpack the group had salvaged. Finally, there was note at the bottom:

_Good luck. Vexing, isn't it?_

_-Enobaria_

"Wow, a spear _and _a shield?" Thaleia cried in surprise, referring to what she had received. "And I've hardly done anything at all in the Games yet!" Amruen was clearly even more surprised, though, his eyes wide when he lifted it out his rather heavy gift from its box.

"I don't even know what kind of sword this is, but it's huge and heavy!" Amruen exclaimed, swinging the giant sword he held in both hands. "This could probably cut down a Career in one blow!"

"That's a flamberge," Steele explained. "We had a few of those back home in the training center. If you strike it against another blade, it will send these vibrations. If you can handle this sort of thing, it'll be very useful." Steele was almost speaking her words absentmindedly, eyeing the way his muscles strained just to hold the thing.

"I can lift it!" Amruen insisted, but seconds later he had to drop it down, deciding to simply drag it with one hand for the moment.

Thaleia giggled once more. "I always steered clear of those things," she remarked. "I didn't see Clyde touch one during training, either. But now that we're all armed, let's keep heading out! I want to see what that stone thing is all about." She took the lead, having the lightest weapons, while Amruen went behind her, still managing to keep up despite the weight of his flamberge. Steele lagged behind with him, trying to show her support and to try and see if she could talk about that kid with him.

"What is it?" Amruen asked, noticing her staring in his direction. Steele had been lost in her thoughts again, realizing two unrelated things; she had been glancing at Amruen a lot lately, and she could not immediately remember the boy from 3's name that was killed by the Career. _Mohan. Mohan Sim, _she reminded herself.

"I want to talk about something," she began. "One of the bloodbath victims."

"The girl, Cecilia? She was amazing," Amruen mused. "I kind of would have liked to go in there and help her, and but I didn't want to do it without you. Why didn't we go in there, anyway?"

"What do you mean, why didn't we go in there?" Steele asked.

"You know, try and help her kill all the Careers! We could have shown the Capitol that their little playthings aren't invincible! And you would have been able to kill Tiberius in the confusion!"

Steele paused for a moment, thinking of an answer. The fact that it didn't come to her almost immediately made her feel nervous, like there was something her mind was trying to tell her, some bad news that she didn't want to hear. "I…guess we should have," she said. "But don't you want to at least try to win?" Amruen patted her shoulder in what she supposed was a gesture of affection.

"Not really. Even if I were to kill everybody else in the Arena with the snap of my fingers," he explained, "I wouldn't really win. They'd just try to make me theirs, and I wouldn't have any of that. So they'd probably have to kill me." He chuckled as he said it, almost nervously. Steele couldn't help but notice that he seemed to act warmly around her. Steele felt that she understood this part of Amruen really well, but there seemed to be something he wasn't telling. Of course, she was no expert of interpreting people's words; that had never been the sort of thing Belisarius had wanted her to learn.

"You, on the other hand," Amruen went on, "_Need_ to win. The Capitol doesn't hate you as much as they do me. You have a chance at surviving after all this is over, I don't. And your message is…it's like a toned-down version of mine. Before my interview, I used to think that the only way to free ourselves from these tyrants was to just kill them all. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe we can rebel in quieter, more subtle ways. And the first step is to show people that we're humans like them, not just figures on a screen."

"That was what I wanted to talk to you about," Steele went on. "You see…how can I call myself a good person or anything like that when I let that poor kid die?" she felt her throat hurt as she said the words, and Amruen looked at her in confusion, not understanding why this made her so upset.

"The boy from 3? He was going to die anyway. There wasn't anything you could do. I was kind of scared when I saw him go limp like that, but you were smart not to go and save him. Tiberius could have killed you if you were trying to protect him." This didn't help Steele, though, and she felt herself begin to cry for the second time since arriving in the Arena.

"Steele? Hey…it's ok…" Amruen said, placing his sword and down and clutching her shoulders. "I don't want to see you upset. Just…don't be sad, please." Steele could see that Amruen didn't know what to say to comfort her, but instead of resenting him for it she just felt worse, feeling like a burden to him.

_There's more, to tell, though. Then you can just let it all out. Maybe he'll have an answer after all._

"He cried for help, but I just ignored him," Steele moaned, wishing she could take it all back. It was better, she decided, to just bottle things up. Had the girl from 7 realized that as well? "But Tiberius…when one of his Career friends needed help…he saved him." Drying her tears, Steele looked into Amruen's eyes, asking in a shaky voice:

"How can I call myself morally upright when I don't help someone in need, and a killer does?!" Steele cried, shutting her eyes. "I'm a horrible person, a hypocrite. And for most of my life, I never even knew it. Maybe _that's _what the Games are punishing me for." She could feel Amruen wrap her in a hug, and she dropped what she had been carrying. The journey could wait. She was too miserable to walk anymore.

"I'm not the person they all think I am…I'm not the person they wanted me to be…I'm not the person _you _wanted me to be! And now, Tiberius, of all people, is succeeding in everything that I've failed." By her estimation, a few minutes passed, and then Amruen cleared his throat while letting her stay as she was.

"Are you ok?" he asked. Steele looked up and let go of him.

"I guess so," she muttered. "I'm sorry you had to see me break down like that."

"But at least you had someone to hold on to. I never did." Steele picked up her stuff and kept going. Thaleia had been waited from a distance. Steele was grateful that even though she probably didn't understand what the fuss was all about, she was at least patient. There was no way she was a Career, she decided.

"There's a trick to keeping yourself happy," Amruen told her as they trudged on through the desert. "It's to not give a shit. So what if you think you were hypocritical this one time? Who cares? It just shows you're human, and that's just what we have to make those Capitolites see. You're feeling exactly the way you're supposed to." Steele was surprised at how reassuring Amruen could be with just a few sentences.

"But is it even possible to convince them?" she wondered. "Is our alliance just a group of anti-Careers to them?"

"Maybe for now. But we can show them who we really are very soon, just like Cecilia did. The Arena will be going hungry again soon."

Despite the ominousness of his words, Steele felt a strange hopeful feeling inside of her. If they saw the Careers again, then this time she could do what she had wanted to do ever since she got her scar. She prayed that that opportunity would not be dashed as well.

**Darius Irons**

"I see it!" Noiz cried. "That's just what I was talking about!"

"Give us a break," he could hear Lidda mutter. "Shut the fuck up and let us rest when we get there, you stupid spying bitch." Her expletives were soft, rather than being grated with the usual harshness that they usually had.

The group had been continuing northeast, with Noiz taking the lead due to her lack of injuries. Well that and she apparently had been to this spot before.

"When we get in here," Noiz explained, "You'll see what the Arena is all about."

"Listen, Noiz, it's great that you saved us and all, but why do we have to follow you?" Darius asked. His legs ached, and he felt that the only reason he was moving them was because it was simply what he had been programmed to do. Glancing at his allies, he could see that they felt the same way, although they were able to walk a bit faster.

"Hey, Snarkfist, keep George moving!" she ordered Riley.

"Oh, sure thing, royal highness!" Riley muttered, turning back and looking at him with concern. "Need some help, buddy?" she asked in a friendlier tone.

"No thanks, I can make it to the stone thing," Darius replied, taking a deep breath and soldiering on. It felt great for him to not need any artificial support.

_Did Nora ever feel like this? Did I ever MAKE her feel like this?_

Finally they reached the place and stopped to rest. Darius took out his sleeping bag and lay himself on it like it was a blanket, ignoring Noiz's sigh of discontent. He couldn't care less what she wanted him to do, those bruises hadn't quite healed yet, although they had certainly gotten better. Plus Noiz had woken up the group before the sun had even risen to start the journey, arguing that night travel was safe. She was probably right, though.

"The 'stone thing'," Noiz explained as Darius closed his eyes to try and sleep, "Is a temple, George."

"Stop calling me that! My name is Darius I told you five times already!" he muttered.

"Apparently the Gamemakers want us to grab the keys they have and go get stuff from these other places," Noiz went on. "I don't know why, but they said it would be cool."

"The Gamemakers can't talk to us from here, dumbass!" Lidda reminded her. "Did somebody send you something to get high on your sponsor gift?"

"No, Unprepared, just vegetables," Noiz replied, munching on a beet from her bag. She had been kind enough to share the assortment with them, but had insisted that they eat in minimal quantity. "Anyway, you'll see once you get inside."

"If this key is so important, why didn't you just take it from the temple yourself? Too lazy and need somebody to get your work done for you?" Riley asked, her mouth turning into a grin. "No, wait, don't tell me," she added, "You accidentally jammed it up your ass with the claw-thingy after taking a dump!" Lidda laughed hysterically, but Darius just opened an eye. Riley could certainly be vulgar at times, he thought. He really couldn't see what was so funny.

"Shut up!" Noiz snapped defensively. "And it's called a zhua, FYI. And they never send us toilet paper as a sponsor gift, so what am I supposed to do, huh? And the reason why I brought you guys here was…well…just one of you come in with me."

"I'll go and appease her," Lidda said to Riley. "You make a sand trap with Darius or something."

"You really sure you wanna be with Noiz alone?" Riley asked. "She might try and blackmail you to death."

"I'm right here, you know!" Noiz cried. "And I don't have any dirt on her, she's not important enough!"

"Heh heh, that's what your mom said!" Lidda cried as she walked into the temple with Noiz.

Darius just shut his eyes, thankful for some sleep at last.

**Lidda McGaffigan**

The moment she stepped inside she received a prompt slap in the face.

"What the hell?!" Lidda cried, about to put on her battle claws. "You think you can just-?!"

"YOU SHUT THE HELL UP AND LISTEN TO ME, YOU WHINY LITTLE BRAT!" Noiz rasped, probably remembering that Lidda was the one with the backup outside.

"Why should I?" Lidda demanded. She could really see any reason why she should yield to a person that had hijacked her alliance—and by extension, was making survival that much more difficult.

"Because I've been through much worse things than you," Noiz told her.

"What do you mean, 'much worse'? We had to go through a whole desert and fight off a mutt, and you just ran around and went exploring!" Lidda protested.

"No, I'm not talking about the Arena," Noiz went on. "I mean before that. When I was a kid. I never stopped crying as a baby, and so my parents nicknamed me Noiz. I got my nicknaming habit from them."

"So?" Lidda asked. "Why should I care?"

"But when I was little," Noiz went on, "They died in a factory fire. All they did was work their butts off to keep me afloat. But it never really amounted to anything, did it? For years I lived with my uncle, and I was never really good at anything useful—except hacking. I'd crack codes, transfer money, forge numbers, delete names of wanted people from databases, thinking that I'd never get caught. I was overconfident in my abilities, satisfied that no one who didn't need to see me ever would, and that when I wanted to hide, I could. But now I'm here, so I guess I didn't hide well enough. All the hard work my parents did to try and keep out of the reapings amounted to nothing," she finished with a sniffle.

Lidda wasn't quite sure how to respond. She had never really been given sob-stories before, and she wasn't sure how this information was relevant. Finally she replied:

"If you wanted me to stop hating you, then you shouldn't have just been an asshole," Lidda replied. "And why did you wanna tell me all this, anyway?"

"I thought that maybe, if you understood a little bit about me, then maybe you'll understand me better when I say this: Never, ever, EVER make a joke about my mom, or my dad, or anyone else in my family. Don't treat me the way you treat everybody else—I can't take that sort of crap like Riley or Darius can. I brought you this far and pushed you this far because I _believed _in you, in all of you. Just like your escort does."

"Well…sorry, I guess," she muttered. She really didn't want to pity Noiz, but she supposed she could at least tolerate her presence for a little while. She'd probably be going to some other temple, anyway, wanting them not to follow her. "So, now that you've tried and failed to make me sad, what do you want to do?"

"The goddess in here kicked my ass," Noiz explained, "And it was before I got my zhua. I'm only allowed to fight these people once, so now I want you to do it." Looking around the temple, Lidda could see an image of a robed woman with stalks of wheat surrounding her.

"You got your ass kicked by a picture?" Lidda asked. "Wow, you are weak!"

"No, it's not the picture," Noiz said rapidly as Lidda took in the scenery, "It's—"

"—The goddess who resides here," said a voice. Suddenly, a woman wearing the same robes as the one in the image appeared with a funny-looking crown made of stalks of wheat.

"Who the heck are you?" Lidda demanded. "And no offense, but I kinda did the whole 'frozen image' look better."

"My name is Demeter," the woman replied breathlessly. "I am goddess of the fertile soil of the land, and yet here my role is diminished. I hope that my daughter is safe." Lidda's eyes lit up.

"Hey, Noiz, I think we found your mom!" she cried. "They put her in the Arena and made her a mutt!"

"I wish," Noiz snorted. "But seriously, she beat me. All I had were my tiny little fists."

"And I've got these tough metal ones!" Lidda cried triumphantly, putting on her battle claws. Noiz was suddenly encased in a bubble.

"So you defy the life of the earth? A bold one, indeed," Demeter muttered. With the snap of her fingers, tomatoes suddenly appeared from panels in the walls and pelted Lidda in the face, blinding her with their juices.

"Oof! It's gonna take more than that to kill me!" she shouted, flailing wildly with her claws. But the tomatoes had disoriented her just long enough for a two-handed blade to appear in her hands. The blade was essentially an elongated ear of corn, with leaves sticking out to make a hilt and the stem as a handle. Before Lidda knew what was happening she was struck with the corn-sword—which somehow cut her arm—and was slammed into a bed of thorns to catch her from crashing into the wall.

Lidda quickly freed herself from the thorns, too furious to bother with the cuts on her arms and legs. She swiped at a sturdy stalk of wheat that appeared in front of her, slicing it to shreds just in time to see Demeter ready to do the same, striking her right shoulder.

"Stupid fucking crop-bitch!" Lidda cried.

"See what I mean?" Noiz called out.

Lidda staggered, groaning as the tomatoes pelted her again. Her brain raced as Demeter tried to charge at her with her corn-sword again.

_She's puny! All she does is hit you when you're down—but what if she runs out of stuff to piss you off with?_

Lidda rushed forward, trying to shove her battle claws in Demeter's face. She could feel something being shredded before her, and when she was able to open her eyes she found that it the corn-sword, for all its power, was really just a stalk of corn.

Demeter raised her hands in what seemed to be surrender, only for a vine to drop down from the ceiling for her to use to elevate herself above the floor. Lidda tried to slash at it, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, raising itself too high for her to reach.

Realizing that Demeter would have to wait for just a bit, Lidda braced herself for her barrage of annoyances. More wheat stalks emerged from the ground, slapping and battering at her face—perhaps Noiz had hoped her own would blend in among these?—and quickly made short work of any that appeared with her battle claws. Next came thorny vines from the walls, but Lidda simply paid attention to where they were and slashed at them to break them apart, although not without getting herself scratched quite a few times. Finally the tomatoes launched themselves, and this time she was ready, closing her eyes when one was about to hit her and destroying as much of them as she could.

Demeter was almost out of options, Lidda presumed when the goddess lowered herself back down to the floor. But then, potatoes appeared in her hand, and she pelt them at Lidda with surprising force, some of them hitting her in the stomach and in the face. Lidda wasn't sure if her nose was bleeding from one of those, but nevertheless:

"You and stupid plants suuuuck!" she screamed with all her might at Demeter, and finally the blades of her claws tore through her robes and dug into her flesh. At just one scratch, Demeter disappeared, releasing Noiz from her bubble and leaving Lidda breathless. She looked around for a moment to see if there was any plant matter left, but there was none. "Guess she chickened out," Lidda remarked.

Just then, Demeter reappeared with a key.

"You fought valiantly," she told Lidda. Lidda herself, however, was too tired for praise. She simply took the key and left.

"I think now we have an understanding of each other, huh?" Noiz asked. "We both went through the same thing, you know."

"Don't push it, Noiz," Lidda warned. "Say, what's your real name?"

"I'd rather it die with me."

"Whatever. I'm craving some tomatoes right now. Did you get any from the sponsors?"

**Tiberius Townsend**

He rose bright and early, weary of the lack of blood he had seen lately. It was about time to start looking at it again.

"Everyone," he announced once Rex—predictably the last to rise—woke up and had breakfast. "Our performance as Careers for the Capitol has been incredibly poor. Tributes are dying without us doing anything to cause it. More kills means more affection from the Capitol, which means more sponsors!" Just as he said this, there was a twinkling sound. Four more silver parachutes rained down, all of them addressed to Dorea. Inside she received various cans of food, 3 energy drinks, a shield and an iron chestplate. She put it on over her tunic and found it to be a perfect fit.

"And she hasn't even killed anybody yet!" Rex pointed out. "Everybody just loves us, huh? Well, except for you."

It took every ounce of maturity in Tiberius not to snap. How was everyone in the group but him getting sponsors when he was the most conventional Career?! _It's getting old, _he theorized. _This new generation of Capitolites likes people that aren't conventional. What can I do to establish my dominance besides making myself leader? Is it to just try and kill who I can?_

"I believe it would be best to head out north again," he went on, ignoring Dorea's glee. "Four people searching should be enough to ensure that some blood is spilled. And when we run into somebody, they're as good as dead, just as they should be. Everyone is free to split up, so long as we all take our supplies between us. Each Career carries a quarter of our total food supply, a quarter of everything else salvaged, plus everything that they received from sponsors." Rex grinned, probably because it meant that the Oreos would be his.

"What about the cliffs?" Clyde asked. "Maybe someone is down there?" he suggested.

"You can check if you want, but meet back with us in the forest if you find nothing," Tiberius instructed. "Now let's move out, everyone. Whatever you take with you dies with you, and make an attempt to not to come back without killing something. Unless it happens to be Thaleia with information on Steele's whereabouts." The group wasted no time diverging from each other.

_I hope you all run into something awful, wherever you're going._

**Rex Adamas**

This whole Games just seemed like a big joke to him now, and he couldn't help but laugh as he wandered through the forest, munching on the remaining Oreos. No one else had really seemed to want to eat them, for some reason.

Oreos as sponsor gifts? Wimps like Dorea getting everybody's attention? Crazy stone houses with nothing in them? This sure was one weird Games!

_Maybe it's all just a dream, _he thought. _I oughta wake up soon, though. Or maybe the real Games have already ended, and this is just some crazy trip I'm having. But then why did Mohan's screams sound so real?_

He climbed a tree with these funny round fruit on it, trying to eat them but then spitting them out. They tasted nasty, anyway, like those gross things his escort liked. Olives or something? He saw a lemon tree, but that was just way too sour for his tastes. He was about to break out the Oreos again when he heard someone making as much noise as he was. It was this endless, constant thumping sound, very annoying and very repetitive. Eventually he found its source; a boy about as big as he was, aimlessly walking along.

_Time to shine! _Rex thought as he ran towards this stranger. But then the boy raced this big thick sword thingy—a machete, Rex decided—and struck back, blocking the blow he had intended to kill him with.

"Aw, don't fight back!" he protested.

"Who are you?" the boy asked, more confused than frightened. "Oh, wait…one of the Careers."

"That's right!" Rex grinned. "And I'm here to deliver death to you!" He swung his mace at the boy once again, only for him to block once more.

This went on for a bit, with the boy seeming to be able to calculate his every move. That didn't make sense, he wasn't a Career! He hadn't been trained in fighting, unless he had had some secret training or something back in whatever backwater place he came from.

While he was thinking about how inexplicable it was that the fight had lasted for more than half a minute, the boy punched his arm, almost causing Rex to drop his mace. At least he would have if he were a weaker person. Rex immediately punched the boy in the face with his free hand, pinning him against a tree. But the boy, apparently mostly unfazed by being shoved, tried to push Rex off with almost equal strength. Rex was too busy trying to keep the boy down that he didn't realize that he was already raising his machete for an attack.

Rex suddenly felt intense pain in his right shoulder—the same one that the girl from 7 attacked. He staggered, nearly kneeling down in surprise, but he got up just before the boy could swing his machete onto his neck.

_Crap, that was a close one! So he wants to play rough, huh? _Rex thought these words almost reflexively as he pounded his mace into the boy's face, causing him to stagger like he had done just moments before. Rex was about to slam his mace into the top of the boy's head, but just as he was about to he felt the machete jab into his side, right into his ribs. He could see that the boy wanted a kill just as badly as he did.

"I think there's a way that we can both be satisfied!" Rex screamed into the boy's face.

"I ain't satisfied unless I'm going home!" the boy cried with anguish.

Rex slammed his mace onto his head with great difficulty. Crushed, the boy slumped downward, while Rex himself collapsed nearby. He could hear a cannon ring out, but it sounded so faint for some reason.

"Oh, god…I'm bleeding badly," he muttered aloud, wondering if there was any way to recover. He could hear more footsteps, and then someone emerged into his vision.

"Dorea!" he cried with relief. "Get me out of here, I hurt all over. This guy was tough!"

He was answered with a knife wedged into his neck.

"Take him through all the rough spots, Hermes," she remarked. "He'll probably think it looks cool."

What the heck was she talking about? Oh well, this had been fun.

**AN: Well, here are your obligatory deaths for the chapter. I would have done more, but I was reaching my word limit.**

**Rex—You were as generic as Careers could be—brash, arrogant, tough, huge, good with tons of weapons. But you certainly weren't perfect, and I thought Matthew was a perfect match for you. I hope that I killed you just the way you had wanted to be killed, locked in a battle with someone that you thought was another brute.**

**Matthew—You were probably just as popular as Rex, if not more. But I wasn't sure what to do with you after Noelle's somewhat untimely death, and I knew that your lack of training would make you stand little chance against a relentless Career with another power weapon. But unlike Rex, you leave a loving family behind. You may have outlived Noelle, but it wasn't guaranteed to send you home. I'm sorry that your dream of a family couldn't be fulfilled, but such is the way of the Games :(**

**By this point, everyone that was wounded (that's still alive) has recovered from their wounds. Just go with me on this one. Also, as you might expect, the next chapter will still be in Day 2.**

**We still have many more temples and gods to see. Here's a hint: bring scuba gear.**

**I can't think of a trivia question at the moment. Sorry, guys.**


	33. Day 2, midday: Gamemaking

Day 2, midday: Gamemaking

**Effie Trinket**

She thought back to what she had done the last times she had been here. She'd enjoy the food and drink with all the other escorts, or perhaps watch the Games with them and the wealthy Capitolites that gathered around the giant flatscreen TVs in the lobby, as if it were some sort of sporting event they could collectively enjoy.

_Those days are gone now, _Effie told herself. _But do I even want to go back?_ No, she decided. People's lives were at stake, even if she really had no obligation to save them.

The Gambler's Parlor House had originally been a casino built shortly after the founding of Panem, and just a few years before the rebellion had begun a hotel was added to it, although a stranger wouldn't know from the name unless they saw the flashing "hotel and casino" sign right at the front.

While the hotel was just as luxurious as most of the others in the Capitol, the real enjoyment came from the fact that this was the only place in Panem where potential sponsors gathered and were legally allowed to buy gifts for their favorite tributes. The rules had been made that way to convenience the escorts and mentors, who needed only to loiter around here with the wealthy Capitolites to try and convince them to sponsor their tribute, rather than sending out emails or texts to everyone they knew—or worse, just going from apartment to apartment, shamelessly advertising. Tables had been set up in the lobby for each escort and District mentors to sit at, with plenty of visible TVs for them to be able to check on their tributes' progress while closing their deal with the Capitolites. Escorts were encouraged to stay at their tables, only getting up for bathroom breaks and to grab some food from the buffet, but as Effie entered the lobby from the elevator she could see that her fellow escorts were either absent, asleep, or busy chatting with associates.

Effie had to walk from one end of the lobby to the other, from the elevator to her table, tucked away in a corner with a TV screen above it mounted on the wall.

The District 1 escort wasn't at the table—and from what she knew about him he was probably in his room trying to get high on some drug you could order from room service—but Gloss and Cashmere were at their table, having brought over food from the buffet for lunch.

"What are you two so happy about?" Effie asked out of curiosity. She decided she would make it a point to try and figure out the status of every tribute still left in the Games. And with the way mentors and escorts loved to brag about their tributes when they could, she knew it wouldn't be a problem to get them to talk.

"Just thinking about something funny," Gloss explained.

"Rex would have loved this place, and we were thinking how long he'd stay at the casino before falling asleep. It's open 24/7, you know."

"Would have?" Effie repeated. Gloss pointed at one of the screens, and Effie nearly gasped when she watched as Rex was knifed by his own District partner after working so hard to fight off the boy from 10. Upon seeing the boy die, she turned back to the sponsors.

"I'm so sorry…" she muttered, her voice muffled by a mixture of cheering and groans.

"It's fine. Rex had it coming," Cashmere muttered.

"And who better to teach him his lesson than Dorea?" Gloss added. "For someone so young she's very…skilled." Cashmere snickered, and it took Effie only a few moments to guess what he was implying.

"Oh…well…how is Dorea doing?" she asked. "She must be very popular."

"The _most _popular, I think," Cashmere replied. "She's good with weapons, very smart, and she had the highest private training score. We definitely have a Victor this year, I can just tell."

"Can you believe we actually had to _turn a sponsor gift down?"_ Gloss added. "There were so many requests that Seneca himself called us and explained not to let them all go through or he'd send them to others!"

"That's fine, though, she has more than enough stuff already," Cashmere finished. "What brings you over here, anyway?"

Effie knew the exact way a Capitolite should respond to such a question. Putting on her best pouting face, she declared:

"I'm insanely jealous of you two! My tributes are both rotten this year! It makes me feel a little better knowing that someone is successful, though." With that Effie walked off to the District 2 table. Brutus and Enobaria weren't as cordial with each other.

"I don't get what it is," Brutus admitted to Effie. "He's clearly more skilled than any of the others, but they all insist that they won't believe it until they see it. He's even being as nice as possible, but it still isn't working! It's completely unfair how 1 and 4 are considered 'better' because they're tributes are just less bloodthirsty this year."

"I'm more intrigued by it all, really," Enobaria added. "Steele turned out to be much popular than Tiberius. She's gotten a few things, but so far no one's sent Tiberius anything. If Steele wins, the definition of 'Career' might change significantly. Just what she wants, really. But what kind of Hunger Games are we going to have without genuine Careers? If the Capitol likes her for now, they may not like her for long if she starts getting funny ideas about the Games."

Beetee and Wiress were at District 3, sealing a deal with a Capitolite. The man had requested that Noiz receive a shield, and he was tapping the letters on his tablet while the mentors looked on. Each potential sponsor in the Parlor House was issued a tablet to purchase sponsor gifts with. The mentors tended to watch the Capitolites as they tapped out what they want to make sure they were going through with the process correctly—and more importantly, giving the tribute exactly what they had said they would. Wiress glanced her eyes back at a TV screen to check on the Games, but Noiz wasn't shown. She then withdrew a different-looking tablet from her clothes, watching the smaller screen with earnest. Effie could see her relax while Beetee thanked the customer.

"Thanks!" he replied heartily as he started back for the buffet. "I wanted to give Dorea an axe, but her mentors actually turned me down! Can you believe it?!" Beetee and Wiress said nothing, too anxious to see if their tribute was ok.

"How do you both feel about Noiz?" Effie asked with polite softness. Beetee looked up while Wiress continued to stare at the tablet. Effie didn't know how the smaller tablets worked, but she had only seen the mentors hold them. Her guess was that they showed live, unedited footage of the Hunger Games. That would explain why the District 1 mentors had reacted so casually to Rex's death: they must have watched as it happened, minutes or perhaps even hours in advance of it being aired on TV.

"She's a strategic one," Beetee replied, "But we don't know how long she'll last. Even if she can get those others to like her, it's obvious that she's simply using them. The way she's looking out westward…we can tell she's up to something."

"But we're worried that it will only lead her to trouble," Wiress added. "Why can't she just stay with her allies? And I don't think she can even fight the girl from 12 alone."

"Lidda?" Effie asked. She had seen that both her and Rocko had survived the first day, but she hadn't seen much of today's events, but Katniss had explained that morning that both Lidda and Rocko were still alive. She presumed it was the battle claws that had done the trick.

Once again, Beetee pointed to the screens. There she saw Lidda battling some sort of robed woman that clearly wasn't a tribute inside room made of stone.

"Oh my word!" she whispered. "She has a chance!" Seeing that she had overstayed her welcome and been a bit rude by declaring Lidda's supposed superiority over Noiz, Effie went on to District 4, where Finnick was watching his tablet while Annie was also closing a deal. A gaggle of Capitolites surrounded their table, although it was clear that most of them weren't here to buy sponsor gifts, just to look at Finnick.

"He's not going where Tiberius wants him to," Finnick muttered aloud. Looking up at Effie, he groaned. "We don't want to talk about them. Not with you." Effie nodded in understanding, willing to concede that asking around about all the other tributes to see what her own needed was probably not one of her brightest ideas.

"Katniss told me about you," Annie said as she had finished the sponsor gift process with a Capitolite woman, who seemed to be shaking with anticipation. "I hope she does well!" the woman squealed nervously in a tone almost exactly like Effie's.

_Was that me a decade ago, back when I sponsored tributes instead of escorting them through the Capitol? _Effie thought. _I can't even remember their names now. But I had liked them. Maybe for all the wrong reasons._

"Thaleia joined up with Steele and Amruen," Annie went on. "But I still don't know where her loyalties lie. She wants to be a Career, but I think she doesn't want to be anywhere near Tiberius. I don't blame her, but I feel like she's setting herself up for something horrible, but if I try to tell her what the problem is, I don't she'll listen. She trusted Clyde more than us during training, and now that they're separated I just don't know if she can handle herself."

"She's fine," Finnick insisted. "Clyde is the one we should be worried about. He's alone, and Dorea or Tiberius could double-cross him easily. He's leaving the forest and heading southwest to those cliffs, and he has the key from that temple place. There's no telling what's there. Happy now?"

"Good luck to both of you," Effie said, walking away quietly.

District 5's mentors were absent, but their escort was around, eagerly watching the TVs around the room.

"They're great, aren't they?" he asked her. "I got lucky this year. I suppose you might have, too, considering both of yours survived the bloodbath. To be honest, I'm not sure who to work with more! Riley is powerful and hilarious, and Copper is powerful and delightfully messed up! It's just perfect for ratings, and I've had to guess each time whether someone wanted to sponsor her or him. Every time I got it wrong!" Effie nodded and checked on District 6.

"Elodie is amazing!" the escort cried, giving Effie a list of praises she had already heard from other escorts and mentors. But when he got to her District partner, all he had to say was: "He's kinda dull. So far he's done nothing but shoot a few arrows, and very unprofessionally. And I haven't seen any limbs get cut off or any traps set! A few people have come and tried to help him—somebody sent him a shield, can you believe it?-but I've been persuading them that it's not worth their time. It really sucks, but maybe he'll get killed off and I can forget about him."

Almost instantly fury bubbled up in Effie's brain. Without thinking, she cried: "How can you say that about the tribute in your care?! How can you like one over the other?! They might BOTH have a chance at winning, and don't you dare do a thing to change that!" she then walked away in a huff, feeling the ends of her heels almost stomping on the polished floor.

District 7 was even worse, for it was here that favoritism, confidence, and anxiety all gave way to apathy.

"Johanna got up and left at the bloodbath," the escort explained. "So did Xenophon. I don't know who gave Dade that note, though."

"Note, what note?" Effie asked, trying to conceal her newfound irritation.

"I dunno, some random note with scratchings on it. Dade seemed to understand it pretty well, though. Maybe it's some kind of dyslexic language? Wonder how you'd say it, though?" Effie left the other escort lost in thought while she spotted Ernest at District 9, constantly darting his eyes at the numerous people around the room. The District 8 table was empty due to both of the tributes being dead.

"Nobody's come yet," Ernest told her. He was surprisingly open with a discussion with her, and she wondered how someone who probably had more reasons to hate Capitolites than anyone else was willing to talk. "Katniss told me about you. Wish I had had an escort that cared about me. But there weren't many sponsor gifts sent that year, anyway."

"I'm so sorry about Noelle," Effie said. "I hope that Amruen will be safe."

"He will be. He's got allies and that awesome sword. The person that wanted to give it to him found my room and burst while I was asleep. After…some problems, he said that he hadn't wanted anyone to see him sponsoring Amruen in public. It wasn't hard to figure out why." Effie smiled and thanked Ernest before leaving.

"Wait," he called out. "Could you work with 9 next year? Our—my—current escort left after…some problems." Effie was about to ask what sort of problems he was having when she remembered what the Quarter Quell had been like.

_Such a distant memory for me, but to him it might as well have been yesterday._

"I'm afraid not," Effie said. "But I'll try and see if I can get someone nice to work with you. I can promise you that."

"Thanks. Just don't break it," Ernest replied somewhat ominously. Effie kept walking to District 10's table, noticing that 11, too, was empty.

After receiving another pessimistic report from 10's escort, Effie finally made it to District 12's table. There seemed to be no shortage of sponsors for Lidda, but Haymitch, who had implicitly been assigned with Rocko, was just drinking beer while Katniss handled everything.

"What have you found out?" Katniss asked. Effie froze. She had only been asking out of curiosity and concern for the other tributes, but now that she was here she could see how easily one could have misinterpreted her wanderings as intelligence gathering.

"I'd rather not say," Effie replied. "Some of them are worried, others are confident, and some just don't care at all. It's just awful."

"Get used to it, sweetheart," Haymitch remarked. "Nobody likes sponsoring people they don't think they can win."

"But _every _tribute should at least get a chance!" Effie protested.

"What are you suggesting, Effie?" Katniss asked.

_Yes, what AM I suggesting? _She could feel the words almost tumble out of her mouth as she replied:

"I have enough money. I can sponsor more people if no one else will!" Effie declared.

"That's a nice idea, but…no, actually it's not. It's stupid," Haymitch replied. "You're supposed to be helping us only, not the others. And I don't even know if it's legal for escorts or mentors to do that."

"I don't know of any rule against it!" Effie insisted. "And what would happen if I broke such a law? They wouldn't arrest me unless they were convinced I was a threat to the Capitol and Panem, and how would me showing a bit of compassion to those who haven't had any since they came here be illegal?"

"Effie," Katniss replied in a tired tone, "Please, just stick with Lidda and Rocko. I'm sure someone will help the others eventually if they need it. Right now we just need to lay low and help our tributes as best as we can. Now go see what you can do with the Capitolites around here. Just remind them that Rocko played a big role in Lidda's chariot ride, and then I'm sure we'll be able to finally send him something. Right, Haymitch?"

"In your dreams. Or maybe mine," he replied.

Effie wordlessly did as she was asked, although her mind was filling itself with other possibilities. She found a Capitolite that was watching away from the others, hoping that she could just do what Katniss had asked.

"Hi, I'm with District 12," Effie muttered to the Capitolite. She was a woman of indeterminable age to her makeup and good fashion sense—at least by Capitol standards—but her hair was a blonde—a natural blonde, Effie could tell. She sipped a glass of wine through a straw, a recent trend adopted by some Capitolites, although Effie herself had never considered doing it. She found it strange that this woman was bothering to come here to watch the Games, only to linger by herself. Perhaps she was just trying to be as objective as possible in considering which tribute to sponsor.

"I recognize you," replied the other woman. "But I'd understand if you can't return the favor. I don't come in here often, but these Games were so interesting that I just wanted to see if there was something I could do to make a difference."

"There certainly is!" Effie replied, glad that the woman wasn't eager to send her away. Most of the Capitolites came here knowing that they might be hounded by escorts, but if this woman had hardly ever been here before than there had been a chance that she wouldn't have been so willing to have someone intrude on her. Or perhaps it had been exactly what she had been waiting for all along?

The woman chuckled. "I like Lidda, but I don't think she can win. In fact I don't think a 12 year old's ever won, really."

"She has enough support already," Effie insisted. "I was hoping that you'd try and sponsor Rocko Warner, her District partner. His…survival rate is much higher than hers." She felt awful saying that, as if she were somehow betraying Lidda. Still, it was undoubtedly a fact, and sometimes unpleasant facts had to be looked in the face.

"Rocko?" the woman repeated. "Isn't he some sort of thief? We can't have him winning, you know. No more than that rebel boy. Why haven't the Gamemakers killed either of them yet, anyway?" Effie inhaled silently. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Well," she began, "He's not the sort of thief you would have to worry about stealing your things. If he were to become victor than he'd never steal again; he'd be too rich for that."

"I don't know," the woman replied. "He seems to be the type that enjoys his own vile occupation. Who's to say he wouldn't start an organization of thieves in the Capitol to pickpocket us and rob us of everything we hold dear?!" Effie thought about that for a moment. It was completely implausible, but while she knew it to be false a part of her was wondering if maybe the woman was onto something.

"No…" Effie replied thoughtfully. "Rocko's just…misfortunate, that's all. He only made a living from stealing because he was poor and he wanted to provide for himself and his family. If we gave him a chance than maybe we could see just how great a person he really is, deep down." Effie wasn't sure if she genuinely believed her own words, but she was desperate to make the other woman at least reconsider her statements.

And to her relief, she did. "Fine. I'll send Rocko something that should help him out very much," the woman replied. She took her tablet and tapped out something, crossing her legs nervously. Suddenly, she got up and walked off as rapidly as she could, frantically heading to the bathroom.

Effie's eyes widened when she looked back and realized that she had left her tablet behind in a rush. It sat innocently in the seat of the chair the woman had been sitting in, almost begging to be used. Effie turned the screen towards her for the moment, curious as to what she had wanted to send. She had remembered that mentors would always check to see that the Capitolite was sending what they had claimed they would, but escorts such as herself were supposed to be too apathetic to bother glancing. Of course, there was no unwritten rule against it, so Effie decided to take just a peek, only to be horrified at what she saw.

In the bar meant for the sponsor gift were the words "Cyanide capsule". The "confirm" button had not been touched, but Rocko's name had been selected from the drop-down list. Effie was almost certain that Seneca—who was informed of what each sponsor wished to send their tributes for his approval—would never allow this to be sent. Nevertheless, a sense of paranoia overwhelmed her, and she wondered what it would mean if he decided to approve it. After all, she had just heard the escorts talking about how bored they were with certain tributes.

_What if I just let this be?_ She thought. _What if let this cruel woman try to force Rocko to kill himself? Would he do it? I honestly don't know. Maybe he would. He'd think that it came from me, and that we only cared about Lidda and hated him. Yes. Yes, he'd do it he thought it was what we wanted. Or perhaps he'd find some worse way to go about doing it. And then what? Other sponsors would get the same idea, and then only the tributes that everyone liked would be left. And then what about the next Games? This could start a precedent, a way for the Capitol to demand—almost force—the tributes to dispose of themselves if they got tired with them._

_No!_ She could feel her brain screaming at her. _You can't let this happen!_ The Capitol might have had the means and justification to put District children in the Hunger Games, but only those tributes themselves should determine whether they wish to live or die. For the Capitol to determine who to win and who to be disposed of—the way they would be the harbringers of death in a direct sense—made her feel nauseous. She thought that maybe she just run into the bathroom and vomit into that other woman's face, just to show her how twisted her mind really was. Underneath the glamorous surface, she realized, the Capitol was so much filthier than even the dirtiest tribute.

_We're monsters. And we take these sweet children and turn them into ourselves._

She knew that this horrible idea had to be nipped in the bud. She would not allow this, she decided. She took the tablet, not caring who saw her, and backspaced away the word "Cyanide capsule". But what would go in its place?

Looking at the TV screens, she watched as the camera took a brief shot at the empty Cornucopia, the lens looking outward at the sea. There had to be some reason for it to be there, she decided. And what if Rocko could access its secrets before anyone else?

She typed in "scuba gear", not knowing if this was sufficient or even acceptable in the Hunger Games. There was no telling if Rocko even had any intention of going underwater, anyway. But she tapped the "confirm" button anyway, confident that her bold risk had not been taken in vain.

. . . . .

When she tapped the button, a message appeared on the computer screen of a Gamemaker whose job it was to receive all the email notifications automatically sent out when someone decided to sponsor a tribute from their tablet—the sponsor tablets, as they had come to be known to distinguish themselves from regular tablets with more multi-purpose apps on them, were expensive, even by Capitol standards—and forward them all to Seneca's work computer in bulk. Seneca himself, being the Head Gamemaker and in charge of so many other things to focus exclusively on sponsors—merely had to approve or reject the item in question. An email with an approved sponsor gift was forwarded to the Gamemaker that managed the storeroom in the basement levels, who in turn gave orders to the Avoxes that ran the warehouse filled with possible items a sponsor could ask for. The Avoxes packaged the sponsor gifts in the boxes and parachutes that they were tasked with making for minimum wage in the months preceding the Games, and then they loaded up all the gifts on one of the private subway trains which surfaced only when it approached the Arena. There were 3 in total, and their only occupants were their drivers, who drove them rapidly to and from the Arena so that the storeroom always had a waiting train. Gamemakers operating hovercrafts would then fly low enough to load up the sponsor gifts and launch them from the top of the Arena above the tributes' location. In early Games the Gamemakers had been inaccurate, but by this point the only way the tributes could fail to receive their gifts was if they died in the 10-minute process it took for the gifts to be packaged and sent to them—which had happened only rarely, thankfully.

Looking over the sponsor gift requests, Seneca's eyebrow raised when he saw one that had asked for scuba gear. He approved it, glad that finally someone had got the message from all those ocean shots that looked out at the island. He had begun to consider destroying that part of the Arena, but now it could stay. Plus another boy was going there as well.

He briefly thought what the Capitolites would think of the gods in that biome as he forwarded the emails to the storeroom-managing Gamemaker. Hopefully they'd like them.

**Hermanius**

His job was frantic, to say the least.

No one else had really wanted to take it. Too fast-paced, they said. Too dangerous, they said. But it had been perfect for him, a man who had always wanted a thrill. A fast one, to be precise. But the days of looking for drugs for that sort of thing were over with. Now he had a job that made his brain race as fast as his heart, and now he wouldn't have it any other way.

He decided what was shown in the Games, and what was cut out. He saw everything that the Capitol didn't want people seeing. And yet, it hadn't changed him a bit. And that had never concerned him in the least; who could argue when you were paid so well?

He watched all of the cameras at once in real-time, just like a bunch of other Gamemakers did. The only difference was that instead of sitting passively and enjoying himself, his duty was to pay close attention to every word spoken and every action taken, and decide in a split second whether it was suitable for TV or not. In short, Hermanius was the censor—the only one, for more weren't needed at the moment.

It hadn't always been this way, but once word had leaked out around the 67th Games that the Capitolites were receiving the Games footage 3 hours late, they were furious—and some of the sponsors rightly so. The Gamemakers, they had argued, were making them risk their money, because if what they were currently watching on TV in the Parlor House was 3 hours in the past, then in the present their tributes could very well be dead without knowing it. Of course, for obvious reasons the Hunger Games could not actually be aired live, so instead it was aired just 5 minutes late. Hermanius had only a small window of time to determine what was aired and what was not, and then he had to speak his thoughts into a microphone connected to the broadcasters' room so that they could edit the footage before airing it.

The first day, the bloodbath included, had seen nothing worth censorship. No one had really said or done anything that warranted it—in fact, Elodie's victims—as they were now referred to collectively by the Gamemakers—had been the highlight of that day, the only real source of dialogue warranting attention. Hermanius had suggested which of the cameras would be used according to what they had captured for that day, but that had only been said at the end of the day, after everything had settled down, although Thomas had been killed at night when most tributes were inactive.

The second day, however, had been different so far. Noiz's attempt at making Lidda sympathize with her and the latter's battle with Demeter had been played up, but around the same time Hermanius had caught wind of what Steele and Armuen were talking about. Given Steele's mixed popularity in the Capitol, it had taken him almost 2 minutes to decide what to leave out. But when he finally made his decision, it ended up looking like this:

_ "__I…guess we should have. But don't you want to at least try to win?"_

_"__Not really. They'd probably have to kill me. You, on the other hand, need to win." _Why Amruen thought he wouldn't win was not necessary to show, nor suitable for Capitolite audiences.

_"__How can I call myself a good person or anything like that when I let that poor kid die? I'm not the person they all think I am…I'm not the person they wanted me to be…I'm not the person you wanted me to be! And now, Tiberius, of all people, is succeeding in everything that I've failed." _There had been more to that discussion about the boy from 3, but Hermanius decided that it was best to try and make Amruen look like a nice, comforting ally to Steele, even if the Capitolites remembered otherwise at the Arena. If he did his job right, Hermanius knew, they'd think Amruen had changed.

_"__Steele? Hey…it's ok…I don't want to see you upset. Just…don't be sad, please."_

Without even knowing it, the boy had said the perfect lines. Now people would see him only as "Steele's new boyfriend" and comforter, which Capitolites adored because it tugged at their heartstrings. It might make them feel sad when they died, sure, but that was all right, so long as Amruen was regarded the same way as other tributes were.

_You might have once been a rebel, but you're not anymore, _Hermanius thought. _Saying "I've changed since the bloodbath" would help even better, but there's nothing I can do to push it on you._

**AN: In this chapter, I wanted to explore the technical aspects of the Hunger Games—how the sponsors work in-universe, for example, and what is edited out of the Games that Capitolites don't get to see. I hoped you liked this, and I'll be sure to get back to the Arena in the next chapter.**

**I've decided the next intermission will be during the final 8. I know that most SYOT writers do family interviews, but I'm going for something a bit…different. You'll see ;)**


	34. Day 2, afternoon and evening: Captivity

Day 2, afternoon and evening: Captivity

**Amruen Neversky**

All thoughts of Steele vanished when the group approached the temple, taking note of its stony simplicity before Thaleia headed inside. Amruen noticed that she had been the one most eager to keep moving northward, as if this whole Arena was some kind of wonderland of adventure to explore rather than an elaborate and beautiful deathtrap.

Going inside, they found that the temple was mostly barren save for a colorful image of what appeared to be a house, and on top of that a much more crudely drawn star that formed an upside-down pentagon with its connected points. Flanking the colorful house on either side were drawings of trees.

"What does all this mean?" Thaleia whispered. A booming voice answered:

"It means wealth. Prosperity. Good fortune. I, Tiurakh, preside over these things. Are they unknown to you?" The voice asked its question in a surprisingly sympathetic tone. Amruen, however, didn't feel at ease. The creature speaking was clearly a mutt, probably trying to relax them before it revealed itself and killed them.

"Don't be condescending! If you want to try and kill us then come out and fight already!" he cried. He was beginning to think that the Gamemakers had sent this voice here just to taunt him. What else could its intentions be if one of the first things it did was try and mock him for his poverty back home in 9?

"So you wish to do battle? Very well," the voice said. Almost instantly a floating, upside-down pentagon shaped entity appeared, pattered in the same way as the house-shaped image. Its "face" was blank, save for a pair of glowing green orbs that perhaps served as eyes. Thaleia and Steele were surrounded by bubbles which floated to the ceiling.

"I did not speak out of condescension," Tiurakh said when it-he, Amruen decided—appeared. "I spoke with pity. I know of your trials, and they are disheartening to hear. Perhaps there is a way I can help."

"Help?!" Amruen cried as he was suddenly hit with a laser, feeling himself be blasted backwards, only to feel himself being pushed back into Tiurakh. The mutt backed up—he refused to acknowledge him as whatever he thought himself to be—as Amruen caught himself, withdrawing his flamberge. He lifted it up, preparing to bring it down on Tiurakh, but the mutt rammed himself into him, sending him staggering back and forcing him to lower his sword. Amruen quickly recovered, however, gripping his flamberge with both hands again, but this time holding it to the side, with his left arm in front of his body as he held it the sword to the right of him. Tiurakh disappeared suddenly, and thin trees suddenly grew all around him in the temple, almost reaching the bubbles on the ceiling, where Steele and Thaleia were watching him, frantically scanning for Tiurakh. Amruen couldn't find him either but had the sense that he was still here, hidden somewhere in the trees. He could a glimpse of a dim, green orb—so Tiurakh hid by dimming the lights of his eyes!—and struck at him, his sword cutting through the thin trees and making a clanging sound on Tiurakh's hide. Tiurakh's eyes flashed back on, and as he shot another laser at Amruen before rising upwards to float above him, perhaps to reach another part of the room. Amruen had been holding his flamberge in front of himself, however, and as a result most of the blast was absorbed by his resilient weapon. Turning around and lifting his sword upward, Amruen dashed to where Tiurakh was attempting to land behind him, the trees having vanished. He uttered a cry as his sword struck the metal being once again, and this time both of them were knocked backwards, but while Amruen merely landed on the floor and caught himself Tiurakh crashed into a wall. From his stunned position he tried to shoot another laser, but Amruen saw it coming and got out of the way as he picked up his flamberge and tried to jam it between the mutt's eyes. Tiurakh vanished, hopefully defeated.

The bubbles carrying Thaleia and Steele lowered and burst when they were near the ground. Amruen almost instinctively hugged Steele.

"Thank god he didn't kill you!" he said, gripping her as tightly as he could. "Let's get out of here," he muttered with an almost animal-like growl of irritation. He was willing to die, but he didn't want a mutt—and by extension, the Capitol—to get that satisfaction.

But to his surprise, Steele broke free of his embrace, looking towards the end of the temple opposite the door they came in, where Tiurakh hovered peacefully, two keys being levitated in green energy, perhaps by some sort of telekinesis.

"Because I preside over wealth—and because you are willing to fight until the bitter end, Amruen—I shall give your alliance two keys." Steele took one, while Thaleia took the other. Amruen was still too cautious to approach the mutt. "Your past condition was pitiable, Amruen," Tiurakh went on, "But I understand that you especially would wish to see us free, for we share the same cruel masters for the moment. Tell me, what joy is there in returning to the world of the living if your brief stay is in servitude?"

"I don't know," Amruen remarked, not understanding what this—god mutt, he decided—was saying. "Are you trying to tell me something they don't want you to say?"

"They put no limits on me in that regard," Tiurakh said. "They will blind the eyes of those watching us, and deafen their ears, so that they will not know what is taking place. While I cannot answer directly—by choice—I must ask you: do you think that I chose this form, or even to be here at all? Almost all of us in the Arena are either dead, soon to die, or have already died. While many of you will die only once—we gods will die for a second time." And with that Tiurakh vanished, leaving Amruen dumbfounded.

**Tiberius Townsend**

First it had just been a minor thing, something not even worth considering feeding. But now that his very life—and his chances of defeating Dorea and Clyde—might depend on it, he realized that it had to be fed.

Tiberius was referring to his bloodlust, of course. He had never paid it much attention during training, and JT had never mentioned it, but Tiberius knew that it was an implicit part of being a Career—you _had _to kill _somebody_. And more importantly, you had to get as many kills as you could, to consolidate your victory and justify it when—or perhaps if-it came.

Of course, it was very hard for Tiberius to have bloodshed on his mind at the moment. He was wandering around in a forest full of fruit trees and animals—useless life was in abundance all around him. Why couldn't his Games have been some sort of unnatural, blood-stained torture chamber?

_Because those are only occasionally seen in the Games, _he reminded himself. They wouldn't cater to him no matter how much they liked him, and aside from all the expense it would probably take to set up an Arena more to his liking, they only tended to appear once in a Head Gamemakers' career. Seneca had already used up his in the 78th Games, anyway. Tiberius smiled, having remembered watching those Games as a little child, thinking that _that _was how all Hunger Games should be like. He hadn't even remembered who won, but the Arena had certainly been terrifying, full of metal chambers and dark corridors and weird mutts…

Tiberius paused for a moment to pluck some pears from a pear tree, the fruit's freshness having probably been preserved only by Gamemaker abilities. Looking around him, he judged that at the moment he was going north, and decided to head northeast, convinced that by this point there were no more tributes in the forest.

But just as he said that, he heard a cannon shot ring out, and another shortly afterward. Tiberius groaned inwardly, regretting having not been there. Oh well, perhaps the desert to the east would have more tributes, and at his current pace he'd probably reach there in about half an hour.

He briefly came upon a stone structure, but upon placing his hands on the entrance slab nothing budged. There was no way to open it or any indent to indicate that even was to be opened, save for a thin slot. Perhaps a sponsor would send something, or maybe it would open up on its own once it was down the final 8. Tiberius continued along, and as he approached the outskirts of the desert he saw something that made him stop in his tracks, and his heart beat rapidly with a sort of nervous excitement.

There she was! Steele, right there, emerging from the temple with her supposed allies! The large boy from 9, and Thaleia. Tiberius hadn't thought of her much since the bloodbath, but upon seeing her he realized that since she obviously hadn't killed Steele yet, reported back to him, or tried to lead them to him, she must have tried to desert him. There was no way he could sneak out there, grab Thaleia, and then act like he still assumed her loyalty. He hid behind a tree, eying the group. Both of the girls seemed to be clutching something in their hands, and as they sat down in the sand to rest—Thaleia was looking towards the forest—he could see that it was a key. Two keys. Keys to what, the stone structure back there? Why were there two?

Glancing northward, Tiberius noted the mountain range about as far from him as the desert was. It was interesting how the temple lay where the 3 spots converged…

_Just like the other one. The one that Clyde and Thaleia went in. The one they lied to me about._

Tiberius sighed with relief at the revelation that all of his allies—save for Rex, ironically, the one that was least reluctant to join him in the first place—had betrayed him. This meant that he could do what he was meant to do uninhibited, with no distractions or associates to worry about. Now he could play the Games the way they were meant to be played. Creeping to the edge of the forest, he could see Thaleia's eyes widen as she saw him, but she didn't cry out or seem to indicate that she knew he was there, although she did stand up and suggest to the unsuspecting fools she was with that maybe they should keep going, reminding them—as he readied his naginata—that the Careers had gone west, and maybe that they were too close to where they might be.

But before any conclusions could be drawn, Tiberius rushed out, getting the jump on the lessers. That was all they were at the end of the day.

Screams rang out, weapons were grabbed, and metal shimmered in the harsh desert sun. Tiberius charged at Thaleia, but she had been ready, and she blocked his jab with her shield—probably given to her by some sponsor—and kept him at bay with a long-ranged weapon of his own, a spear he hadn't remembered seeing her getting at the bloodbath.

_Just a minor mistake. Correct yourself, now. _Tiberius rammed her shield with his weapon, attempting to overwhelm her with the force of his blows. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others to his left, almost behind him. He leaped forward, stretching out his left leg—although now his right was working just fine—and kicked Thaleia, his sandal colliding with her thigh. She fell backwards, clutching her spear but dropping her shield.

_A boot, of course, would have been better, but no matter._

"Did you think you'd be safe?!" Tiberius roared in her ear. "Did you think they'd take care of you?!" He spun around shortly after he had finished speaking, blocking a strike from a now maddened Steele's sword. He was now fighting defensively, backing away so that he could see when Thaleia would recover. With each attempt at a jab, Tiberius noticed with frustration, Steele was able to block, just as she had done at the bloodbath. Tiberius roared in frustration, but then his mind relaxed for a moment when he saw the boy from 9 trying to get at him from the side.

_She has a weakness, of course. And it's heading right towards me!_

Tiberius jumped to his left to face the boy from 9, slashing at him diagonally downwards with his naginata, feeling a sense of almost peace when he saw that he made him bleed. There was the bloodlust the Capitol wanted. Now they were happy.

The boy from 9 staggered but still tried to swing his incredibly heavy sword, forcing Tiberius to block with his own weapon. As metal struck metal he recognized that this weapon was a flamberge, and no mere greatsword or claymore.

_Who would DARE send this rebel a weapon like that!?_

As the vibrations disoriented him for a few seconds, he saw Steele charging from his right, raising her sword and preparing to slash. Tiberius thrust the wooden part of his weapon at her, and while it didn't block completely and his right arm was still hit with the blade, it prevented her from being able to mutilate him as she had probably wanted to, what with him daring to strike at her precious boyfriend. But as Tiberius looked to face his latest attacker, he could see that she hung her shield to her side, too eager to use her sword to finish him off.

_Just what I want, Steele._

He shoved her with the blunt end of his naginata, then slashed at her chest the way he had done the boy's, although Steele was able to block and take less damage. Tiberius quickly struck at her left arm which held the shield, letting Steele thrust her sword into his left shoulder—she had surely been aiming for chest, but the way he had had to lower himself slightly had saved his life for now. Steele dropped the shield in pain, and he quickly grabbed it despite being better at defending with two naginatas than a shield. It was better to have something than nothing. He bashed Steele's shield in her face, preparing to batter her again when he saw that the boy from 9 was ready to attack him again. That, and Thaleia had just gotten up and dashed off, although she wasn't running towards him but away from him, towards—

_The keys! I can't have them, can I?_

Tiberius crossed his arms, blocking Steele's sword strike with his naginata's blade, and tossing the sword in the boy from 9's face while he lowered his sword. Having accomplished the perfect revenge against him for messing his only opportunity to kill Steele, Tiberius ran around them towards Thaleia. His left shoulder was too hurt for him to effectively use the shield, anyway. Knowing they were in hot pursuit, he had to make this quick. Steele had wisely grabbed both her spear and her shield, to his disappointment, but he knew he could fight her off. The question was, how quickly?

Tiberius ran parallel to Thaleia, catching up with her as she grabbed one of the keys that now lay in the sand. He got to her right after she stood up and resumed a fighting stance, and their extended blades met once more.

But this time, Tiberius knew, mistakes would not be made.

The tips of their blades clashed, but Tiberius rotated his weapon in his hands so that the tip of Thaleia's spear was touching the side that curved away from her spear, not inward around it. This made it easier for him to push her spear aside for just one crucial moment, and…

**Thaleia Starling**

He shoved her spear aside as if it were nothing, and as she tried to raise her shield up he simply rotated his weapon again—she could not even name it in her frenzy—so that the blade curved around the side of her shield, shoving it away, although he had to use a bit more force. Her arm seemed to protest as she tried to bring her spear back in front of her, hoping that maybe she had a small window of opportunity left before—

He unhesitantly stabbed her in the chest, forcing the hand that gripped her spear—and one of the keys—open as if he was a starfish opening the shell of a clam. He probably would have taken the other key, too if Amruen and Steele hadn't arrived in the nick of time to force him to retreat. And yet, Thaleia thought as she watched Tiberius run away, she could not call him a coward, even if she had had the sense to speak. It was just a tactical withdrawal. He would rather fight Steele with the knowledge that he had a chance of surviving afterwards than dying to Amruen's huge and deadly blade.

_He's no different from the rest of us. Just fighting to survive._

"Thaleia!" he heard Steele cry. Amruen was wide-eyed, and quickly retrieved Steele's box of bandages while placing a hand on his own wounds. Steele took a few and ran towards her as she looked downward at herself, feeling as if the wound was on another person instead of her.

Catching a glimpse of the sun, she realized that she was actually lying on the ground, face up. How she had gotten that way she wasn't sure, but suddenly she felt the pain and cried out, realizing that she was dying.

She could not hate Tiberius for killing her—if that was what was really happening—but she was still alarmed by this sudden development. There were so many things she had yet to do, so many things she could say—and now it was all too late.

_I only have a minute, at most. What can I say?_ She felt the words gather themselves on the tip of her tongue, as if they had appeared from somewhere rather than being formed in her brain first.

"Don't think of us all as being like him," Thaleia muttered to Steele, knowing that she would understand she was referring to Tiberius. Looking at both of her allies, she added, "I'm so sorry I tagged along. He wanted me to be his spy. But I was afraid of him, and the ocean. I wanted to run away from everything I was afraid of. With you both." She was glad that she had been able to finally tell someone that wouldn't judge her for it what her greatest fear was, even though it wouldn't matter anymore now.

Steele knelt down, first applying a bandage on her bleeding chest, and then giving her a hug. "You have nothing to feel sorry about," she whispered through sobs. Thaleia smiled, glad that she hadn't died alone.

That was another fear, one which she wouldn't have to face. But Clyde…her friend, Clyde, maybe he would. She wanted to go back to him, to see him one last time, to tell him that she had tried her best, but that there was still something she had never gotten to do.

"Take me to the ocean, please," Thaleia whispered back. But they could not do it now. They were too far away.

But as she slipped away into some other place—it wasn't nothing, like she had always assumed—she felt herself being surrounded by water, and she welcomed it.

And then she slipped away to somewhere else, realizing that when she had felt the water she had still been in the Arena for just a moment, hearing the crashing of waves.

**Rocko Warner**

A cannon rang out as he emerged from Marduk's temple. Quite a character, he had been.

As he sat on one of the crates apparently left behind from the late Thomas Kerr's group, he could see a body wash out to shore.

"Looks like someone died at sea," he thought aloud with a brief snort of amusement. Chimes rang, and a silver parachute hovered down to where he was. Opening up the box he found a wetsuit, a strange set of goggles with a nozzle attached, and an instruction manual. Upon reading the manual, Rocko realized what it was for.

"So you want me to go underwater, hmm? From what Marduk said about Tiamat, that would be the perfect place to gain some sort of advantage over whoever is left," Rocko muttered. The sun was beginning to go lower, and in a few hours sunset would arrive, not that that really meant much to him. Probably meant tons to someone else out here, though.

He changed clothes where he stood, knowing he was too thin to be ogled at by the Capitol for more than a few seconds. He left his tunic inside Marduk's temple—the god had vanished after Rocko had left the first time with his key—and started for the water, glancing only briefly as a hovercraft lowered its claw to pick up the tribute. Rocko recognized her as the girl from 4, and he tried to theorize how she died.

"Hopefully it wasn't something down there," Rocko muttered. He wedged his sword between his back and his oxygen tank that came with the scuba gear, positioning it so that the blade didn't puncture anything. Next he stuck his head under the water. The waves seemed to try and push him back to the shore while simultaneously dragging him down with them. At first Rocko panicked and held his breath, desperately floundering to the surface for air—until he remembered that he could breathe underwater thanks to the oxygen tank on his back.

He swam down beneath the force of the waves, letting himself sink into the ocean so that he could see whatever it was that needed seeing. Strange, colorful structures that looked like underwater plants—although they had no leaves and were in many colors besides green-and various fish Rocko had never seen before filled the area, the latter resting swimming about as if they were living creatures rather than artificial ones. There were even these star-shaped things that barely moved, and spiny balls that slowly inched along whatever surface they were on. When they didn't attack him on sight—in fact, most of these creatures looked incapable of it—Rocko realized that these had to be based off of real animals, not mutts designed by the Gamemakers.

"There's so much down here—and to think I might be the only one to get to see it. Why wasn't Lidda born as one of these things?" Rocko said, his voice sounding strange through his breathing apparatus. "I'll just keep my thoughts to myself," he remarked, not knowing if his oxygen supply was unlimited or just recycled through somehow.

He swam deeper, past a group of giant underwater insects with huge claws that reminded him of sharp mittens, for some reason. He wondered if maybe the boy from 4—who was still alive—knew the names of these things. At any rate, the creatures scuttled along the sandy bottom past the colorful structures that the fish seemed to gather around. The last bits of color came from these structures with big holes at the top and smaller ones on their sides. After Rocko had swum past a group of them, the rocks and color gave way to a slope of sand. At the edge of his field of vision in the now-darkening water, he could see a stone structure built exactly like Marduk's on the surface. Having quickly learned already that if he moved his arms and legs a certain way he could push himself through the water, Rocko dove down deeper, feeling a current pushing him along—probably an unnatural one. He doubted that he would have even been able to reach the entrance of the temple had that current not been there.

When he placed his key at the slot in the door, it was sucked through—the key was quite thin-and the door lowered itself, letting in the water through a small antechamber, with a wall just behind the door. Once Rocko got inside the antechamber, however, the entrance closed back, and the water that had flooded in drained itself. Rocko cautiously took off his scuba mask, and a panel in the wall opened up, revealing an extra tunic for him to change into.

"An airlock," Rocko chuckled. "You Gameamakers certainly don't want me to drown just yet, do you?" he changed back into his tunic, and the wall in front of him lowered, revealing the rest of the temple.

Like Marduk's, it consisted of only one room, but rather than being made of stone and decorated with an image of the deity he was meant to fight, the room was circular, much larger, and devoid of any sort of decoration, although the walls were a dark blue. Touching the walls, Rocko could feel that it wasn't paint, but some sort of blue stone. But just as with the fish, he had no idea what it would be called, or if it was even real or just an artificial Capitol construct.

Raising his sword so that the blade faced upward in preparation for what was to come, a feminine voice spoke, her words feeling like someone was drumming at his ears:

**"****Millennia have passed since my veneration. And yet they wish to confine me in HERE?! But the sea is vast, and its power cannot be contained forever. You will be the first in a long time to flounder in the living waves, just as those upstarts deserve!"**

"Was that a pre-programmed statement, or-?" Rocko could not finish, for before him appeared a geyser of water that resembled a woman's face, her hair consisting of strands of water flowing behind her. This, he realized, was Tiamat, the foe Marduk had boasted about fighting and defeating.

Tiamat emitted a roar, and a powerful and misty gust of wind hit Rocko in the face with enough force to send him sprawling backwards. He felt his scalp get scrapped on the walls, recalling that when this had almost happened in his fight with Marduk the god had intervened, briefly catching his head. It was then that he realized that Tiamat would kill him if she had the chance. Indeed, this was what separated her from gods like Marduk; any god that needed a key to access was allowed by the Gamemakers to kill a tribute.

He scrambled to his feet as Tiamat's watery body surged before him, swinging his sword at her when she unleashed a blast of water at him at a high enough pressure for him to actually feel pain from its impact. The water hit him in the chest, and it felt like a sort of all-encompassing punch that happened to be strongest just below his right shoulder. He cringed as Tiamat strafed to the left of him, lunging at him again with another aquatic punch, this time to the face. Rocko partially blocked it with his sword, but the water both dented it and made him stagger. Tiamat then appeared directly in front of him, roaring once more and pinning him against the wall with the force of the blow. Briefly blinded by the accompanying mist, Rocko blinked to find that Timat's body had swallowed him in a churning orb of water. Rocko felt himself being slammed down to the floor of the temple, the water forcing him to keep his head down.

_She's trying to drown me, _Rocko thought with horror. He had never been that strong of a swimmer, although he had practiced some during training. While scuba diving, he had tried to regard the water as a sort of other dimension with low gravity (even though he knew the truth). But now that he wasn't able to breathe at the moment and helpless before Tiamat, he became aware of his mortality.

_She has to have some sort of weakness. They would have given me some special weapon to fight her with if I had needed it. So where's my sword?_ All of Rocko's usual remarks he would have wanted to say in a situation like this were far from his mind. Feeling his eyes being filled with water, Rocko looked up and searched around the room for his sword while Tiamat held him in place, flat on his stomach, the sounds of churning water filling his ears.

There it was, just outside Tiamat's watery essence. Rocko grunted, his voice becoming large bubbles and disrupting Tiamat for just a moment, and he crawled out, freeing his upper body and grabbing his sword. He turned and looked up to find Tiamat lunging ready to strike to drag him back under, her eyes blazing—figuratively speaking—and her mouth wide open in a scream, revealing fangs of foam. Rocko held his sword out protectively, its blade driving itself into her mouth. Rocko saw Tiamat's expression change as the tip of his sword found air, having skewered Tiamat's head.

The monster—Rocko could not think of this creature as a deity—made a muffled gasp, and then its watery body collapsed, falling to the temple floor as if it were regular water. Rocko sputtered and coughed a bit, having swallowed a bit of her, and when his lungs and throat were mostly dry a panel opened up in the floor, much like the one in the private training room.

On the pedestal that emerged was a sky-blue staff with a small churning orb of the same color at the tip. Rocko picked it up, and when he did so more panels opened, revealing a basket of fish, a fishing pole, another key—possibly so that he could access another temple-and his scuba gear. Rocko was particularly relieved to find the food; he had assumed that the scuba gear would make itself return somehow, but the food was a welcome surprise. Plus with the fishing pole he could catch more, assuming that he could find something to use as bait. He wondered what those red insect things with the big claws tasted like…

"But what does the staff do?" Rocko wondered aloud, glad to be able to vocalize his own thoughts again. "It had better not be some sort of commemorative gift." He thrust the staff and its orb forward, and a loud booming sound was heard. It sounded exactly like Tiamat's roar, and Rocko could even see mist being sprayed in the direction he had pointed. But he had also felt something around him as well. Testing the staff again, he could feel and hear a shroud of winds surrounding him. He wasn't sure how much offensive and defensive capabilities the staff had, but he would keep it for now. They wouldn't have given it to him if it wasn't useful in some way.

Minutes later he gathered his stuff, put his scuba gear back on and emerged from the temple. He hadn't gotten far when he realized that something was following him. Turning around, he gasped bubbles upon seeing that a sleek, golden sea serpent was chasing after him, most likely a hostile mutt that hadn't been around when he had tried to reach the temple before. Hoping that it would work, he pointed his staff at the serpent. The blast of water made a great booming sound that reverberated throughout the ocean, and he could see the sea serpent get enveloped in a giant bubble that raced toward it from the staff. Rocko could also feel a whirlpool surrounding him, realizing that this staff worked just as well underwater as it did on land. The sea serpent went limp from the blast, and Rocko swam away, constantly jerking his head behind him. The sea serpent did not seem to recover until he had returned to the colorful section of the ocean, surfacing and letting the waves take him to the shore.

Dragging his dripping wet body out of the water, Rocko could see the sunset to the west, and despite his fatigue, he felt that he had just earned a reward—and perhaps for the first time, in an honest way.

He went back to Marduk's temple where the box with the sponsor gift lay, deciding to use it as a sort of bed to rest in. But inside he found a note that he hadn't noticed before:

_What they say about you breaks my heart. You're better than us all, and I'm sorry that I didn't realize that._

_-Effie_

Rocko's face automatically contorted into a smile, but he covered his mouth, not wanting anyone to see him behaving so uncharacteristically.

**Clyde Morrisey**

Another tribute was watching the sea's sunset as well, facing the west coast of the cliffs, where the sea held nothing but a faint glimmer of light, most likely indicating the location of the forcefield.

It had taken him quite a while to reach here, but it was worth it, he thought. The Careers were far away from him and out of his life for the moment, and the sea reminded him of home. Dorea still had the key they had one from Hermes, but during the afternoon Clyde had fought Hermes for one of his own rather than exploring the woods after splitting off from Tiberius.

_What are my parents doing? Is dad all right? Is mother still…herself?_

_It doesn't matter. As far as you're concerned, none of them exist anymore. They stopped existing when you came here. All that matters now are the people left, and what they do. The other Careers aren't out of your life just yet, Clyde. But now is your chance to subvert them._

The cliffs were essentially a series of rocky peninsulas that stretched out like fingers, and although they could be climbed over, Clyde was intrigued by a tunnel at the base that seemed to go downward. He felt that he was leaving a relatively safer part of the Arena for a more hostile location, but that in itself compelled him to go down there and see what needed to be done, or what was to be found. Hermes had claimed there was a temple down there, and hopefully he was right; and if not than there could still be tributes.

_But the real reason you're going down there, _Clyde's mind reminded him, _Is because you'll finally get to be alone. No more girls confusing and enticing you with passionless companionship—_

_Dorea and Thaleia are my friends. They don't see me as anything else, either._

_Dorea wanted to get in your pants. Thaleia wanted protection and safety in a strange place. They left you because you could not provide. But it is all right; you don't need them, anyway. All you need is yourself, and when you go down into those caves you'll come out a stronger man, Clyde. Strong enough to win the Games._

He trudged on into the darkness, unsure how sane he was.

**Noiz Huxley**

She hated being a captive to these happy-go-lucky people.

At Snarkfist's insistence, the group had headed for the mountain range to the north, a long chain of snow-capped rocks and perilous slopes. Noiz wasn't afraid of heights, but it was quickly established that Unprepared was.

"Are you sure it's safe to walk around the side on the trail like that?" she asked at virtually every new mountain they came across.

"Will you relax for one second, Unprepared? Jeez, you're more afraid of this place than all those guys back home were afraid of me!" Snarkfist remarked.

"You've really been bad-mouthing them lately," George pointed out. "What did they ever do to you?"

"Nothing, it's just that they were major wimps," Snarkfist replied. "Nice people, but not a day went by without me being able to beat them after a couple of months of training. A good source of reference for wimpitude, really. If somebody's acting like them, it's my obligation to tell them."

"That's not a word," George pointed out.

"It is now, if she wants it to be," Unprepared cried a bit too loudly, obviously trying to draw their attention away from her shaking knees.

Noiz, meanwhile, was getting a bit tired of the way they all worked off each other. It was always the same with them; Unprepared would fuss, Snarkfist would think of an allegedly witty response, and George would finish with some statement to make him look like the smart one, when he was really just the most normal one. Noiz was tired of this and their bad attempts at being funny. She had tried to join in and explain their nicknames, but of course none of them had really gotten it. She was even beginning to associate them with their actual names, since that was all she had heard them say.

_Don't get me wrong, guys, you three are all right. But I can't stay with you forever._

Her plan had been to take the key from Lidda somehow and use it on the temple she had seen in the desert very early on, but the opportunity never presented itself. She had tried to persuade Lidda, but she had insisted that it was _her _key, which was unfortunately true. Noiz had wanted to steal it from them during the day, but with 3 pairs of eyes constantly looking around, she knew that it was risky. And without a doubt she was sure they'd try to kill her if caught her running off with the key. Lidda may have understood her better than the others a little bit, but Noiz dreaded making her mad—because if Lidda was mad about something, then she could rile up the whole group. Or so Noiz predicted, positive that her fears couldn't be completely unfounded.

After reaching a particularly high mountain top at some point in the middle of the night, chimes rang out, and parachutes descended as stars began to appear. Noiz and Darius both received shields, Riley got a spear and scuba gear, and Lidda—

"CERAMIC shards!" she cried with delight. "They're like glass, only better and heavier! Who was the _wonderful _person that sent this?! It had to be Effie, right?"

"I don't think escorts are allowed to send stuff directly," Darius pointed out, just as Noiz had predicted.

"You know, Lidda, you're the only person I know that can see—" Riley began.

"Something valuable when everyone else sees crap. Wonder which one of us is delusional?" Noiz finished for her. Riley simply laughed.

"Oh my god, you're like a mind-reader! How'd you know I was going to say that?" Noiz shrugged in response.

"Come on! Let's go into that temple and kick some ass!" Lidda cried eagerly. "We can sleep when we're done, I just wanna see what this place has in store! I mean, we didn't waste time climbing mountains for nothing, right?"

_We better not have! _Noiz thought. Perhaps, she decided as the group gathered their stuff and went in, Lidda had a point.

But if she was the delusional one, as Riley had remarked snidely, then there was little point to sticking around with these 3 after tonight.

**AN: The day hasn't quite ended yet, but the night will have to be a separate chapter since this one is already too long. I'm in the middle of writing it, BTW.**

**Thaleia—You were the perfect example of a non-Career Career, although I think your submitter didn't have that in mind. You were meant to be a girl that strived to fight and win, like any other Career, but your weakness was what set you apart. I had to change your personality in order to make you stand out, and even though you may not quite be like you are on your submission form, I don't regret tweaking you at all.**

**I could have made you die by drowning or go with the Careers, but I thought that it would be too forced. Your weakness shaped your personality, but I knew I couldn't make it define your death. So I made you go in the opposite direction. Ultimately, you died because even though you were able to fight, you just didn't stack up to the others. You died protecting your allies, albeit indirectly, and I felt that they were the perfect people for you. Even though you had been confident about being a Career, you were just the Career that Steele needed to see to develop her more. Same thing with Clyde; he was supposed to be more aloof than I have made him, but you were the small spark of optimism and sanity that he needed to pick himself up. He never fell in love with you, but that's because you were the best friend he could ever have had. You will most certainly be missed by everyone that knew you, inside and outside the Arena.**

**Unfortunately, I never got to your backstory as to how you became afraid of water in the first place. But I promise that I will do that soon enough.**

**The chapter after the next one is when the hunger system sets in. I'll re-explain it when we get there. Also, Thaleia's name never appeared in the sky because there are still a few more deaths that need to occur before midnight.**

**Triva question: Name some of the things Rocko saw underwater (but didn't recognize). They're all real sea creatures, it's just that being from 12 he thought they might have been mutts or something. Sort of like how someone from 3 might never have seen a mockingjay, for instance.**


	35. Night of day 2: Wrath

Day 2, night: Wrath

**Elodie Kruger**

After the delays of yesterday and having gathered food today, she and Copper finally entered the temple they had both grown impatient to see.

"Whoever or whatever is inside here is probably no stronger than Marduk," Elodie told Copper. "I think it would be best to leave the rocket launcher here for now. Just bury it under some leaves and dirt."

"But we can probably kill whoever is in there instantly!" Copper insisted. Elodie knew just how to respond.

"So, you would rather give the creature in there a quick and powerful death rather than a slow, subtle one? I thought you were different, Copper. I thought you were more like me. I thought that you understood the way I've suffered—"

"Ok, you're right! It's more fun to do it slowly, anyway. But still, we _have _to use that rocket launcher soon."

Elodie watched silently as Copper buried the rocket launcher, covering it with dirt and leaves near a tree. The two then used the key and entered the temple, the stone slab that served as the door becoming loose enough on the right side for them to push it open. Just in case it was necessary, Copper pushed the door back in place, finding an indent from the inside that led them pull it back open when they needed to.

The temple appeared to be much large on the inside than it was out. The inner room was covered in green, glowing walls, but otherwise the place was empty.

"Did someone come in here ahead of us?" Copper whispered.

"I don't think so. Surely there would be blood or some signs of a battle?" Elodie replied. A deep gruff voice replied to them:

"**I, Humbaba, must rule the forest, and yet they dared to imprison me in here?! The cedars are MINE! I will not sit idly while the forest is tainted with blood by the likes of you!"**

Elodie's eyes widened when she saw her opponent; a massive brown humanoid creature—with limbs far thicker than Marduk's—appeared before her and Copper, having wild hair consisting of branches and thorns, while his face was decidedly that of a lion's, although it didn't seem to be the same lion that Copper killed in a more powerful form. The lion hadn't been able to speak, and it had certainly not called itself "Humbaba" or considered itself royalty. No, she decided, this was a god she and Copper were challenging—and obviously one that wouldn't show them mercy like Marduk.

Copper charged forward, perhaps unintimidated by Humbaba because it—he—seemed to have no weapons. But as Elodie saw with horror, the creature clearly made up for that with his giant fists, one of which he tried to use to crush Copper, only for her ally to get out of the way just in time. For a moment Elodie stood frozen as Copper swung his hammer into Humbaba's ankle, too frightened and unaccustomed to real battles.

_You must fight. This is the Hunger Games. Go in there and prove yourself worthy of the Presidency._ So Elodie reached for the poison vials she had worn around her neck underneath her tunic, withdrawing a vial of green liquid. A corrosive acid, if her memory was still functioning in this situation.

Careful to open the vial only when she had dashed over to Humbaba's stunned figure, she splashed it on his other foot, and Copper added a crushing blow with his Warhammer on Humbaba's toes to bring the brute toppling over.

But it was only momentarily. Elodie had just finished applying another poison to Humbaba by tipping her dagger with artificial black mamba venom and stabbing the god's thick neck, only for Humbaba to shake her and her weapon off of himself violently, and swiping away at Copper with his huge hand. Copper skidded on his back backwards for a few feet before Humbaba shakily stood himself to his feet, inhaling deeply. Elodie looked on with dread when she saw smoke pouring from Humbab's nostrils. She knew instantly that this meant Humbaba was able to breathe fire, and there was no way Copper could survive.

She quickly threw a plain-looking combat knife at Humbaba, hitting him between the chest and neck. While he certainly didn't drop dead instantly, the god was stunned once more, and Copper scrambled to his feet, ready to fight again. Elodie rushed forward as well, not sure what she could do next. Humbaba was still standing up, and she knew that climbing up his legs to stab a vital area was virtually impossible. Copper would somehow have to make him fall again without her help, and she only had one corrosive acid left, hoping to save it for later.

Humbaba kicked her aside as she was trying to charge at him, and she cursed inwardly for once again leaving Copper to fend off the monster alone. But she stood herself up again, tossing Copper her second and final vial of acid. Copper only glanced at her briefly as Humbaba lowered his head, ready to launch flames from his mouth. This time he did so successfully, but Copper leaped out of the way in anticipation. Noting Humbaba's lowered head the top of his Warhammer just barely reached the god's face. Copper opened the vial, put the acid on one end of the Warhammer and jumped. Humbaba reeled back when he landed, both from the force of the blow and the acid, some of which had leaked into his eyes. Elodie wasted no time getting up and rushing once more towards the now-surely-incapacitated god. Humbaba was slumped up against the wall in what was almost a sitting position, and Elodie gave the final blow by stabbing her dagger in his chest without using any poisons.

**"****Not another humiliation…"** the god muttered before fading away in death. Once he had disappeared, several pedestals emerged, and the lights in the room seemed to glow as bright as it had been that morning outside. Looking around, Copper and Elodie found that their rewards for defeating Humbaba were a pair of steel gauntlets for each of them, water, iodine, and a single helmet made of wood that could fit over both of their heads. The wood seemed to be derived from a bunch of branches that had somehow been woven together like silk. Upon putting it on, Elodie felt the same.

"Maybe it's a dud, or some kind of joke," Copper said, chuckling. Elodie scowled in frustration.

"No! They would never give us a useless item!" she cried. While putting on the helmet, she had placed her stuff on the floor. As she stooped down to pick it up, she saw a branch shoot past her head and wrap around what she had thought about picking up.

"Copper! Do you know what this thing can do for us!?" she cried. Before he could give a rhetorical answer, she added, "The branches that make up the helmet are like extra arms that can stretch out farther than ours."

"You keep it," he insisted. "I'll take the heavy stuff." And with that they left the temple, fatigued but happy they had gone in.

**Julia Kellson**

She had considered leaving the forest about 5 times already today, but not seeing a single tribute kept her unsure. They could all just be out of her vision, lurking somewhere else in the forest, or they could be all over the other biomes. But why would they be in the desert or the mountains? This forest had all a tribute needed to survive in; game, shelter, hiding places. Why would you be anywhere else?

_And why, _Julia thought with confusion, _Is there a big stone house in the middle of this place?_

She had passed it yesterday once while searching for food, content not to go in, even though the place seemed accessible now when it hadn't been before, which she didn't understand. The entrance was closed as usual, but the door was ajar so that you could push it aside if you wanted to access the inside. She heard a small clinking sound and the stone door being moved earlier that day, and she assumed that other tributes had gone in, but they certainly hadn't come out. Why would anyone be so stupid as to-?

She tripped suddenly, having thought she was on flat ground before. But she could see a flash of silver beneath a pile of leaves. Unearthing the thing, she was horrified and completely confused at what she saw.

She knew it was a weapon, and certainly a dangerous one at that, but what was it doing here? And how come she hadn't seen it the last time she came to the temple? And why had the tributes left it out here? Was it too big to store in the stone house?

She lifted it with as much strength as she had, struggling just to hold it upright and cautious about pointing the barrel towards herself. Whatever this thing was, she realized, it was meant to annilhilate and kill a tribute instantly. Whoever had gotten it must have been saving it for some dire situation that would call for it. For someone much more dangerous than her.

And it was on that thought that Julia decided to keep it, realizing that to her, every tribute was more dangerous. Even that girl from 12. Speaking of which, how was she still alive?

Deciding that it didn't matter, Julia grabbed the weapon and carried it back to where she had decided to sleep for the night, eventually having to resort to dragging it. She was a few yards away from the temple when she heard:

"It's gone! Somebody took it!" This was followed by some whispers she couldn't hear very well, and Julia heaved the weapon on her shoulders, running off northward. She could hear a male voice cry out that he saw her, and she ran faster, knowing it was only a matter of time before they caught up with her.

Looking back over her shoulder, she recognized her pursuers as the boy from 5 and the girl from 6, and she was convinced without a doubt that this had been given to them. She remembered that they had had 3 other allies, and it didn't take long for Julia to realize what had happened. But from the fact that they had hidden this thing in the first place, they still had not used this thing.

_And now it's mine. And they'll do whatever it takes to get it back._

In her flight, Julia felt herself running past some plants. She stopped and looked down as she ran, finding that she had accidentally wandered into some poison ivy.

_Dammit! Why do these things have to happen to me? Why am I always doing and saying things so rashly!? You didn't HAVE to draw attention to yourself, Julia. You didn't HAVE to steal their weapon. You could have let yourself live out here for the rest of the Games, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH AN IDIOT?!_

And then she stopped, remembering she had a few things on her person besides the weapon.

_Because you were tired of running and hiding, _she answered her thoughts._Because you knew that no matter how much you stayed out of sight, you were going to die anyway. Because you're tired of having to step around and worry about what people will do or say, or whether you've messed up or not. Right now, you have a chance to do something that no tribute would think of doing—and will probably never do._

_For just a moment, I'm going to do things my way._

**Copper Nyrstar**

That girl was going to pay. Very much so.

How would he kill her? A toxic knife to the skull, to make her pain physical as well as mental? A thorough bludgeoning of her limbs? Or simply snatching the rocket launcher from her and shooting it at her?

_The possibilities are endless. But what do I choose? I've never been good at deciding when I've had time to think about it._

Not even his decision to join with Elodie had been the most rational. Was she really a fellow sufferer? She never seemed to regard herself as one. He could see in the way she conducted herself, with that air of superiority and "I'm in charge"-ness he had grown used to.

But did he hate her? Was she a hindrance, or an asset? She may have been foolish enough to leave the rocket launcher behind, but if that hadn't happened then they wouldn't be pursuing a helpless victim right now that probably thought of herself as ever so clever. So, in a way, he had to thank Elodie for her insistence that Humbaba had not been worth using a rocket launcher on. Although he would have done it anyway, had Elodie not been there to…hinder him. So perhaps she was both an obstacle and a benevolent master.

_Your leash does not wish to inhibit you. She just wants to aim the direction of your wrath. Is that really so bad as long as you get a victim? Perhaps not. Or perhaps very much so._

Copper had little time to think about it because while he was running Elodie caught up to him and held out her arm, beckoning him to back away from the tribute even though she was perfectly still. But wait, what was she-?

A lit match, and the girl's fingers were dangling it over the poison ivy. Obviously, the flame would consume the wood, so she could not hold it that way forever, but still…Copper felt great admiration for her. Elodie, meanwhile, stood frozen in fear, her mouth open. Balanced on her other shoulder, Julia had the rocket launcher ready to fire at them.

"Julia!" Elodie called out, finally having remembered the tribute's name. "Now, Julia, let's think about this for a moment. This isn't some ranch back home in 10, we can't just have a cookout or try to burn each other for fun!"

"My family never had a ranch," Julia corrected her gruffly.

"Well, just think about what you're doing! If you burn the poison ivy, not only will you start a forest fire, but you won't be able to make it back out because the smoke from the poison ivy will enter your lungs. Respiratory arrest, Julia? Do you know what that means? Burn poison ivy and you kill us, yourself and the whole biome!"

"We had some growing in the small forest behind the house. I already know all this," Julia replied firmly. "And I had a feeling that you'd know, too."

"Do you think your parents would want you to act like this savage little pyromaniac?" Elodie went on. "How do you think it will reflect on your _District?_ Use your brain, Julia, I know you have one!" She was furious now, practically shrieking at the girl. She put on her hat innocently to make it look as if it were harmless, although Copper could see Julia eyeing it suspiciously.

"I have a brain," Julia replied. "It's just that I've decided that I shouldn't have to care anymore what other people think of me, or how they react to what I say and do. I don't regret what I'm doing here, right now, even if it kills me. Most of us are doomed, anyway. I don't care what my family or you or anyone else thinks of me—although I hope they understand why I'm doing this." She glanced aside for a moment, possibly looking into the direction of a camera to say goodbye to her loved ones at home.

_Mine couldn't care less what happens to me. Hers do, _Copper lamented inwardly. _And the way this girl wishes to annilhilate us…it's greater than anything I could have come up with. This is the master to whom I yield._

And then everything else happened so fast.

Julia dropped her match, letting it fall into the patch of poison ivy. As the flames began to spread, the branches on Elodie's helmet shot out, trying to grab the rocket launcher. But the press of the button to launch the rocket was all it took, and as Elodie quickly retracted her branches, a smile fell on Copper's face as the rocket flew straight towards him.

He could hear Elodie cry out as name as she dashed to the left, leaving him even though she probably didn't want to. But he didn't care about her anymore. He was free now, and this small girl from 10 had shown him the greatest way to end a life.

It was what he had been searching for all along.

_Thank you, Julia Kellson._

**Dorea Calis**

A faint boom was heard, but it didn't sound like a cannon, strangely enough.

_It doesn't matter what shenanigans take place over there. Worry about the shenanigans over here._

A chime rang out, and 3 silver parachutes landed near her around the trees. She almost absentmindedly opened up the boxes.

_Bow and arrows. Knives. Dried food. Some weird metal claw-things. They just want to give me everything and see what I'll do with it. Well, they'll certainly be disappointed._

She took everything and carried it in her now extremely heavy backpack that she had used to load everything that could fit, which was everything except for the shield and chestplate, the former of which she had strapped between her shoulders and the backpack. The latter was simply worn over her tunic for protection. It was uncomfortable, but in all their wisdom the sponsors had not decided on supplying her with a pack mule, so she was left to lug it all.

_Nobody. 3 cannons and a cannon-resembling sound, and still nobody. They must have all gone into the desert. Wonder if Tiberius has figured that out y—_

Dorea stopped, realizing that the previously-hidden branch she had stepped on snapped, and she heard footsteps. Someone had been trying to trap her. She dropped her backpack and held her shield in place. She wanted to retrieve a weapon from her backpack, but the tribute that had arranged this crude alarm trap might have the opportunity to ambush her.

_But then again, that might be the only way to lure him out._

She squatted down and opened up her backpack, deciding that out of her numerous weapons she had, a single broadsword would be best. Tiberius and Clyde would never have bothered to set something up like this, so it was probably a regular tribute that had just managed to hide well. She quickly stood up and pointed her weapon in front of her when someone cried:

"Where'd you hide Sssam, you mean bitch!?" a 12 year old that was exceptionally large for his age emerged from behind a tree, brandishing a knife and screaming with terror when he saw what she was armed with.

"Who the heck is Ssam?" Dorea asked out of curiosity. She knew there was no way this boy could kill her, so she figured that she could at least entertain herself and the audience by getting him to answer this question. It was probably why he had stuck around despite all the Careers, anyway.

"My snake token buddy, now hand him over!" the boy cried nervously, his hands shaking—especially so the one with the knife. Dorea grinned in amusement.

"You mean…this guy?" she asked, withdrawing a small green snake. She had intended on using him as a last-ditch food source in case her other food was consumed or destroyed—there was no telling how long the Games would take, after all—and had found him slithering around when there was little else. Knowing that this boy's living token was obviously important to him, she took out the snake and pointed her sword at him. She knew how sadistic she must have looked to the Capitolite audience, but her real purpose for this was more practical.

"No, don't kill him you psycho Career bitch!" the boy cried, rushing forward, only to be kicked rather lightly in the shin so that Dorea could snatch his knife. Unarmed and helpless to her whims, she began the hostage negotiations.

"How long have you been out here in the woods?" Dorea asked.

"None of your business, now give me Ssam back! Or hurry up and kill him, just make it quick!" the boy pleaded.

"If you answer me truthfully, then I'll let Sam go," Dorea replied.

"The whole Games, ok? And his name is Sssam, which 3 Ss, not 1!"

"Fine, then. Who have you seen since the Games?"

"I thought you said you'd let him go!" the boy tried to charge at her, but she effortlessly pushed him back, lifting up her backpack and putting it back on her shoulders so that he couldn't get at it.

"I still have a lot to ask you," Dorea replied. "And if you do as I ask then I have a solution to our accidental meeting that could benefit both of us. Now, who have you seen?"

"The older girl from 9, and I killed her. She was with the big guy from 10. I saw his dead body with the big guy from 1. Aside from you, that's it."

"Ok, thank you. Well done, by the way. Killing someone, I mean."

"Shut up and give Ssam back!" the boy cried.

"Not yet," Dorea urged. "I still need to think of one more thing to ask you. Like how you survived, for example."

"I just hid out in the woods, ok? Now give Ssam back so I can get out of here."

"Why do you need to get out of here?" Dorea asked. "Is it because there are other Careers about? Careers that might be more willing to kill you?"

"There are?! Just let him go, please! I don't want Ssam to die even if I have to!" the boy screamed desperately. Dorea decided to take a gamble. She handed Ssam back, tossing the snake and letting the boy catch it.

"Now that I've spared your friend, lead me to the temple," Dorea commanded.

"What are you talking about, the stony thingy? That…that's just crap they put up to confuse you!" Dorea placed her broadsword beside his throat.

"Lead me, or you and Ssam both die. You've been here long enough to know where it is, I'm positive. I had a feeling there was a temple here, and if you lead me to it we can strike out a deal where your life and Ssam's aren't at stake."

"Huh? What the heck are you talking about? Just let me go!" he cried.

"I have the fighting abilities. You have knowledge of the forest and basic trapping skills. There's a Career I'm trying to kill that's probably wandering around here, and if you help me kill him we'll be that much closer to victory. And all you have to do is lead me to the temple, where we can be allies."

"I don't want any allies!" the boy protested.

"It's either me, a girl who knows just how valuable you really are, or a killer. You don't want _him _going into the temple and taking whatever is valuable, do you?"

"But that wouldn't be fair, then he'd win!" the boy complained. "Ok, ok, I'll help you. Just stop pointing all the sharp stuff at me."

Dorea released him, put his knife in her backpack and handed him her trapping supplies, shield, one of her energy drinks and battle claws.

"Use these to take care of the Career yourself, in case I'm not around," she urged him. "Set up as many traps as you need to along the way."

"Wow, this is much better than what Xenophon sent me! You must have a ton of sponsors!" the boy cried, bounding off and leaving Dorea to follow him while he set up traps. "And what kind of idiot are you, trusting me with all this?" he asked.

"I'm smart enough to detect traps," Dorea explained. "It's not possible for you to catch me off guard based on what I've given you."

"You didn't see the branch until it was too late!"

"That was different. It was too crude for the trained eye to detect," she replied defensively.

"Heh heh, sure, whatever, you're a dumbass deep down. Bet you don't even know my name!"

"I don't want to. It will just make things harder for me."

"Dade Novak. That's my name."

She groaned inwardly. This had all better be worth it.

**Darius Irons**

Sleeping during the day earlier made him ready for the night.

His excuse for not going into the temple had been simple: he just had to pee first, he said. When Lidda pointed out that he hadn't drunk that much water, he simply replied that male anatomical differences made him have to use the bathroom more. Riley nearly laughed, but he could tell she knew his true intentions. Lidda took it at face value and made a crude remark about what she guessed being a male was like, and Noiz was too apathetic to care, but still eyeing him nervously as he went out.

It was a simple thing, really: all he had to do was bury an arrow head in the slope, and with the way a victim would fall they would just tumble off the side and land headfirst in a heap of rocks in a pass between the mountains. It was a bit crude, for sure, but his group collectively had plenty of things to finish the job.

As he calculated the angle and tried to think back to how tall Noiz was, names and faces appeared in the sky as the Capitol anthem blared.

Rex Adamas. One of the Careers, and a big one, too. Good riddance.

Thaleia Starling. Another Career, but Darius had seen her run off with the rebels. The two groups must have clashed.

Copper Nyrstar. That was a pleasant surprise.

Julia Kellson. He hadn't known much about her, but he wondered if it had anything to do with that huge boom he had heard in the eastern forest. Looking out at the view before him, he could see the forest on his left set ablaze. What had happened? However it had started, Julia had surely perished in it.

_Only 12 of us left, _he thought. _And in the morning it should be 11. Or perhaps even less._

**AN: We are down to the top 12, and with it the third day! The following tributes have enough food to not have to worry about their hunger going down:**

**Dorea**

**Noiz**

**Riley**

**Darius**

**Dade (but only because Dorea is with him)**

**Lidda**

**Rocko**

**Everyone else has some food, but it's not enough to keep them from being hungry.**

**List of wounds:**

**Tiberius: Damaged left shoulder, exhausted, little food**

**Steele: Cut on left arm**

**Elodie: Minor burns, exhausted, no food**

**Amruen: Large diagonal cut from the bottom of his chest across his stomach**

**Lidda: Numerous scrapes**

**The water Rocko swallowed is negligible.**

**Sponsor points:**

**NOTICE: Dorea has too much stuff already, even after this chapter. I'm placing an embargo on Dorea; don't send her any food or weapons unless she loses a bunch in the next chapter. I'm glad you all like her, but I've gotten way too many sponsor gifts for Dorea lately, and she can't have everything. I really didn't expect this to happen, but now that it has, I'm not letting you send Dorea anything else for the time being. I'll probably lift the ban at some point, though. Anyone else is fine, including Riley's alliance since they share a lot at the moment.**

**Sponsor points list (change every time somebody sponsors):**

**Platrium—770**

**Julyette of Wonder—515**

**Xxbookwormockingjayxx—345**

**MidnightRaven—340**

**Lokithisismadness—270**

**someoneorother123—260**

**Atashi Desu—210**

**luvakatsuki3—123**

**grimreaper1373—180**

**MeddlingArtist—95**

**Christoph Andretti—90**

**earthling44—75 **

**iluvhungergames—70**

**jakey121—70 **

**munamana-60**

**NorisLilThief—50**

**Aspect of One—50**

**Axe Smelling God—45**

**ImmyRose-45**

**Emmeline C. Thornbrooke-40**

**Vulkodlak-30**

**Decidedly Destiel-30**

**NorthEastChild-30**

**MockingJack-30**

**Imetc—30 (all could be spent on one tribute)**

**karmakat49-30**

**JustAnotherAthenaGirl-30**

**Jedimindricks—30**

**Anonymous fanz—10**

**And finally, eulogies:**

**Copper Nyrstar—You were the best "insane" tribute I could hope for. Not because your insanity was any "different" from other insane tributes that liked poison, but because you had a calm side to it, and only people like Elodie could really see just how dangerous you were until it was too late. You also had amazing strength to back it up, and any restraints on yourself you could break off easily if you didn't want to. But you never broke free and rebelled against Elodie—like I had been assuming I would have you do—because deep down you just wanted someone that shared your interests. You just wanted a friend.**

**I did not expect to be killing you off this early, but I think the one thing that did it for me was that I just couldn't imagine you winning, even though I've already thought up scenarios for what will happen based on who wins for some tributes already. I also felt it was great to have you killed by the weapon you received—and from a girl who no one would have expected to be wielding it.**

**Julia Kellson—I knew as soon as I saw that even though you certainly weren't Victor material, you still had great potential. Your inner conflict was great to work with. The only problem was that you didn't stand out much, and you seemed like the loner type to me. But the fact that ****you were ordinary—no special skills, no abilities or signature weapons, nothing—made me want to give you a chance. You had flaws, major ones, and while sometimes I feel like I had to play that up when I wrote you I wanted you to be at peace with yourself when you died—and I hope I made it unforgettable.**


	36. Day 3, morning: Shocks

Day 3, morning: Shocks

**Clyde Morrissey**

What was there to do but move on?

A few hours before the names and faces of the dead were shown on the roof of the cavern, just as he had been considering going to sleep. Thaleia had been among them, along with both tributes from 10, Rex—to his surprise and relief—and the boy from 5 which he had heard from Dorea was dangerous. It took a few minutes to sink in, and his mind didn't help:

_She's dead. Get moving._

_But I thought she was stronger than me._

_That's just your inferiority complex. Get moving._

_…__I'll stay here for a minute. Besides, I'm tired._

He sat down on the ground, closing his eyes in mourning, waiting for the tears to come. But they never came. Instead he slept, hoping that he could forget, for just a little while, everything that she had meant to him.

**Riley Covington**

She and the others found that the temple they had just entered was stone and square, although much larger than Demeter's. Embedded in the walls were white glowing crystals, illuminating the entire room and giving it an unreal feel to it. But just as the other temples had been, this one was empty for the moment.

"Hey, look, it's awesome to stare at shiny rooms and stuff, but can we go to bed now?" she asked Lidda.

"No!" she insisted. "We've got to find the god and get his key! Or her key. And if we do it in the morning, the Careers might be on us!"

"Lidda," Riley replied, "As tough as I claim to be sometimes, I still need my beauty sleep. How are we going to fight well when we can barely keep our eyes open?" She was really referring to herself, she realized, for Noiz seemed to be wide awake, her eyes taking in the vastness of the room.

"I know! That energy drink!" Lidda cried. She unceremoniously withdrew a generically labeled bottle of dark green liquid and poured a small amount into her cupped hands and drank what she could. Then she handed the drink to Riley.

"Now you go, and make it quick! You want some, Noiz?" Lidda asked. Riley could already see that whatever this thing was, it was certainly taking effect; Lidda's speech was a bit more rapid, and her eyes were widened a bit. Riley shrugged and drank some, feeling the world around her moving at a faster pace.

"Eh, not bad. The Capitolites must use these all the time to stay ecstatic at all those boring social occasions they have to go to!" Riley mused.

"Yeah, they're probably high on something all the time!" Lidda agreed. "Morphling's not good enough for them, they have to have all those trippy things like LSD and—"

"Let's just beat this guy, all right?!" Noiz snapped. "You two won't get any additional sponsors with all the banter you're exchanging! This isn't a popularity contest!"

"You're just saying that because you're the unpopular one!" Riley laughed, and quickly added, "I was joking. You're above Tiberius, for sure."

At Noiz's insistence, all conversation stopped when they entered the center of the room. They heard a voice bellow:

**"****Centuries my power has been untapped. Witness the fury Thor in the short time I have to unleash it!" **A larger than life man appeared, with almost effeminately long blonde hair and a beard to match. In his left hand he wielded a hammer that sparked with electricity.

"Think you're a badass, huh? Well, think again, cuz' Lidda McGaffigan is a bigger one!" Lidda cried, dashing forward at a faster rate than her usual speed. Riley chased after her, feeling that this guy was different from Demeter in one crucial way.

"Lidda, wait! This guy's not like—" she began, but before she could finish Lidda shrieked in terror at the hammer that was being raised before her. She scrambled out of the way, bumping into Riley just before the hammer hit the ground where she had been.

"He wants to kill us!" Lidda cried.

"Welcome to the Hunger Games!" Riley and Noiz replied at the same time. The 3 girls split up without another word, Noiz flanking Thor on his left, Lidda on his right—opposite the hammer-holding hand—while Riley was left to face Thor directly. The god swung prepared to lift up has hammer again, and Riley took the initiative by jumping on the hammer—she could feel a prickling sensation beneath her feet—and climbed onto Thor's hand, whacking at his fingers with her club. The giant human god winced from the blows, but in seconds he flicked her off effortlessly, momentarily letting go of his huge hammer. Lidda, meanwhile, swiped at Thor's right leg with her battle claws, while Noiz jumped onto Thor's left calf, using her zhua to climb up and pierce the claw-like blades of her weapon into Thor's knee.

The god kicked them off of him one at a time after he had knocked off Riley, unsure of which one to target. He ultimately settled on Noiz, swinging his hammer in arc to his left, hoping to annihilate her with one blow. Noiz blocked the swing of his hammer with her zhua, flying backwards almost all the way to a wall with the muffled blow. To make matters worse, she was electrocuted by the hammer and twitched a bit from the electricity. Riley quickly ran forward, being the closest person to Noiz as Thor was ready to strike with his hammer again. Riley blocked the blow with her club, its tip colliding with the hammer and making her fall to the ground, although she wasn't electrocuted because the club was wooden. Riley watched helplessly as Thor prepared for one last blow to kill both of them, irritated that his previous efforts had been foiled. Lidda tried to dash over there, her claws creating scars on Thor's legs, but she wouldn't be able to make it in time, Riley could see.

_This must be what a get for wanting to protect allies. Sorry, Cornelius._

But suddenly, Thor's eyes widened and the mighty god dropped his hammer. Riley could see an arrow wedged in his neck.

"Darius, you picked a great time to show up!" she cried triumphantly, struggling to her feet while Lidda made her way to Noiz. Riley didn't understand her concern for Noiz over her, but perhaps it was simply her desire to have everyone survive this battle.

She ran over to Darius but he said nothing, watching as Thor's neck bled.

"I didn't hit the jugular artery, did I?" he muttered. "Riley, this thing is little more than a giant human with a hammer. Use your club to whack one of his big toes. Try to hit the nail." Riley was confused by what Darius could mean by that, especially since Thor was wearing cloth boots that didn't go higher than his ankle.

"You want me to make him break a nail?! Is there something you've been hiding, Darius?" Riley asked, not understand how she was able to keep up her banter in a stressful situation like this.

"Just do as I ask!" he yelled as Thor began to raise his hammer again, this time at the two of them. They got out of the way just in time to avoid the force of the blow, although they weren't able to avoid the electric shocks. Riley picked herself up and Darius as well, who backed ran backwards as he steadied his bow. Riley moved forward, grabbing Lidda and Noiz.

"Darius has a plan. I don't want you guys doing anything unless he says it's ok!" Riley explained hastily.

"Lemme go, I was about to cut his leg to ribbons!" Noiz, however, looked relieved to be relieved from fighting. After getting the two behind Darius, Riley took her club and ran past Thor's deadly hammer, delivering a sharp whack to his right foot, right where his big toe was. But the blow seemed to do nothing.

"It's not—" she began.

"Try AGAIN!" Darius uncharacteristically screamed, and Riley did so, this time hearing a crackle seeing Thor's giant foot take a step back from the pain. Turning to Darius, she saw him aiming at Thor's left arm, and when he shot his arrow Thor dropped his hammer, the weapon hitting the ground with a loud thud. Amidst the vibrations, Darius pointed at Thor, who was now bending over to pick up his hammer, lowering his head.

"TAKE THIS, YOU BIG BASTARD!" Lidda cried, withdrawing a ceramic shard as she charged with a still-silent Noiz. When she was close enough to Thor's face she threw a shard into the god's right eye, the jagged edges piercing into the cornea. Noiz reached with her zhua and did the same to Thor's other eye, and when Thor was blinded Darius edged closer. Riley went around to see what his next move was.

"Now get its skull!" he cried, and the three girls charged, attacking the forehead of the now nearly-incapacitated giant. After several cuts, slashes, and bludgeons to the head, Darius shot one last arrow in its skull, this one penetrating much deeper than his others. Even though they weren't quite sure if Thor was dead yet, the god vanished nonetheless seconds later.

"Wow," Riley said breathlessly. "That was one hell of a fight. You were really badass there, Darius, telling us what to do and stuff. If you ever worked out, you'd be like the perfect Career."

"Better than a Career!" Lidda added. Darius blushed and grinned awkwardly.

"Yeah, thanks guys," he muttered. "I just did what I thought would work. It was all about hitting him in the right places to leave him vulnerable…you know?"

The group gathered as loot several loaves of bread, another key, and a miniaturized version of Thor's hammer that even Lidda could lift with ease thanks to its rubber handle to ease gripping. But it had come with a strange, bluish white gun.

"Let me see that," Noiz asked. They gave it to her, assuming that she had some knowledge they didn't and watched as she pointed it at the wall. Lightning fired from the gun and hit the wall, with smoke wafting from the spot where it hit. Noiz then turned to the hammer and shot at it with the same weapon, and the group watched in awe as electricity crackled along the end of the hammer, just as it had when Thor wielded it.

"Just as I thought. This thing is a bolt gun!" Noiz cried. "I didn't think these would be in the Games. Peacekeepers in 3 would sometimes have these if they were a high enough rank, and some people I knew actually _made _these. Not sure how they work, but since this shoots out electricity we can use it to charge the hammer if we need to. Of course, the bolt gun will run out of stored electricity at some point, and even if the Gamemakers gave us a lightning storm we'd probably get killed trying to recharge the gun."

"How many shots do you think we have left?" Darius asked. Riley was surprised that not even he had ever seen something like this before.

"I can't say. Never had to make these," Noiz replied. She clutched the bolt gun while Riley decided to grab the hammer, and Lidda took the key while Darius grabbed the bread.

Letting the younger girls go first, Darius whispered furtively to Riley, "She's up to something. Don't get in her line of fire."

"Up to what?"

"Remember why she joined us," Darius urged.

The four went outside, the sun now beginning to rise on the horizon. A chime rang out, and two silver parachutes dropped down. The group placed down their stuff to open up the boxes together.

"Bandages and water," Riley muttered. "Not super cool, but still helpful." She faced south as she spoke, eyeing the group. Noiz was still there, perfectly normal. Maybe Darius had just been paranoid.

"Ok," Lidda declared, "I think I can patch us up. Noiz, hold the key for a sec."

"Way ahead of you," Noiz whispered grimly. She had already snatched the key before Lidda had even asked, and Lidda glanced only briefly before Riley saw Noiz take off with the key and the bolt gun. As she and Darius began their chase, Lidda did a double take.

"Noiz?! What the hell? Where are you going? COME BACK WITH THE KEY, YOU THIEVING BITCH!" Riley shifted to her right as Lidda ran past her, only to be stopped by Darius.

"I knew she'd do this," he explained. "Wait a moment. She's going just where I need her to…"

**Noiz Huxley**

This had not exactly been her best plan ever, but what other time had there been to get the key?

She scrambled down the slope of the mountain, eager to make her way back into the desert, her unofficial home for the Arena. The mountains were too harsh for a fragile girl like her to dwell in.

She was faster than Lidda and Darius, she knew, and Riley would probably be hesitant to catch up with her due to the uneven terrain. One slip and—

Noiz felt her foot step on something sharp, but she kept going, assuming it was just a fluke, albeit at a slower pace. But then, she looked down and realized there were more. She'd have to step around the spikes that poked up out of the ground, which she had not remembered being there before. There were only five others, but they were close enough to have to worry about. Who had-?

She felt a sharp, piercing pain in her back, much like her foot had just felt, only ten times worse. _An arrow! George, that bastard!_

Thankfully, she had a good sense of balance, so she didn't simply keel over from the shot. She could at least escape upright rather than crawling away somewhere like a desperate street thief. But the pain was too much for her to be able to run away effectively. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned her head and pointed her bolt gun at her attacker.

She had hoped it would be Riley, but it was Lidda. _Of course. One of the few people that ever bothered to listen to me. And I betrayed her._

_Sorry about this._

She fired the bolt gun, not bothering to look as Lidda's small body crackled and twitched with electricity, desperately trying to get down the mountain before that other set of rapid footsteps—

Her head was suddenly wracked with pain, and as her skull was rattled and bashed repeatedly she fired another shot with the bolt gun, electrocuting another former ally. Now helpless and bleeding, Noiz struggled to get up and began the rest of her descent, only to hear a male voice mutter:

"I never trusted you. Not so mysterious anymore, huh?"

_No, I'm not. I'm just a girl that had to provide for myself, to make up for my parents. So what if I did some things that got me in trouble? I never got caught._

She raised her zhua in front of her defensively, swiping at Darius' general body, too wounded and desperate to aim properly. She fired his bolt gun at him once, electrocuting herself as well as him since she had placed a defensive hand on his body to try and push him away to no avail. Now that her last enemy—they were not allies, nor had they ever been—was out of commission for a moment—she didn't hear any cannons fire, but she was more concerned with escaping than killing—she crawled, not caring that her hands were beginning to bleed from being pierced by the arrowheads in the ground or that her knees were scraping on the rocky soil. She was a few yards away when she felt a pair of pudgy hands grab her and send her plummeting down somewhere.

"Why did you do that, you idiot? Why?" Lidda's words were little more than a whisper, and Noiz could barely hear them as she tumbled off the side of the mountain, her world now filled with red and black.

_Because I didn't think I'd get caught. But I was wrong. So horribly wrong._

**Steeleia Sharpe**

She winced from the sound of the cannon. "It was nearby, wasn't it?" she asked Amruen nervously.

"Yeah, I heard it, too. In the mountains somewhere. Not where Tiberius went, though." He was lying on his back in the somewhat modest underwear all the tributes had been issued, and she was delicately placing a bandage on the long gash Tiberius had given him that had also torn a hole in his tunic. She was gentle not just because of the way Amruen kept wincing whenever she touched the area near it, but also because she felt a bit dirty doing this. Sure, Amruen was guant, but there was still a bit of muscle and strength in that leanness, and she had seen it in action against Tiberius. What was he thinking about her, touching his body like it was some sort of sacred object?

"Steele, don't be so nervous. It's just me," he reassured her. "Do I look weird or something?" Steele shook her head, finishing Amruen's wound so she could focus on her own.

The pair had gone north from Tiurakh's temple into the mountains, hoping to escape from Tiberius. Steele felt ashamed to be running away from her rival, but she made no indication of it. Amruen, she assumed, probably saw retreat as a wise option, considering he had probably had to run and hide from Peacekeepers so often.

_But that's not me. I have to face him. The Gamemakers won't let us stay away from each other forever. If we don't find him, he'll find me. And then they'll separate me from Amruen._

In her rush to get here, she had assumed that Tiberius had found them by sheer coincidence, but in hindsight she could see that the Gamemakers had wanted it to happen all along, whether they had actually led him to them or not. Thaleia had never left them while she had been alive, and even if she had sneaked out at night she wouldn't have known where Tiberius was.

"Let's not go into the temple," Amruen suggested. "We're tired as it is, anyway. Tiberius will take at least a day to find us."

"I hope you're right," Steele muttered. "I'm so sorry I took so long patching you up. Thaleia was better with first aid than me."

"It's fine, you did a great job. I feel better already!" he declared as he put his tunic back on.

"And…I'm sorry I got you wrapped up in this. You should have just stayed on your own, maybe you would have survived better."

"Stop apologizing, it's really not like you. Something the matter? Is it Thaleia?" Amruen asked rather bluntly. Steele sighed and shook her head.

"It's not just Thaleia," she replied after a few seconds of silence. "It's a lot of things, and I don't think I could make you understand. Things just…aren't going the way I had pictured them to."

"What did you think would happen? This is the Hunger Games, nobody's really sure what they're doing in here. Except for the Careers, but I'll bet even they get confused, too." Steele couldn't help but notice that Amruen had implicitly referred to her as not a Career. It was inaccurate, but she was flattered by the label; it meant he didn't see her like he saw the usual killing machines that inhabited the Arena every year.

"I know that now, but I wasn't aware of it then," Steele explained. "I had seen myself as this antithesis to people like Tiberius—the evil killing machines I thought all Careers were. And I also saw myself as a protector of the weak, but instead I abandoned weak people like the boy from 3 and worked with strong people. I realize now that just because I don't have the same mindset as Tiberius doesn't make me any less of potential killer than him."

"What do you mean? You didn't kill anybody, he has. He killed the one Career you could probably trust," Amruen pointed out.

"That's another problem," Steele went on. "I thought that all Careers would be like Tiberius—these relentless killers—but after meeting Thaleia I realized that they weren't. They were just people fortunate enough to live in Districts where that sort of thing was normal. Just like me. Thaleia was a lot like me, but she got to have a normal life outside of training. I could have ended up just like her if my parents and Belisarius had been a bit different. And what about the girl from 1 and the boy from 4? What are their names…oh, Dorea and Clyde. I haven't seen them at all. What if they're much better people than I had assumed they were?"

"Then that's great! It means you only have one person that would want to kill you right now," Amruen pointed out.

"No, don't you get it? It means that everything I thought about people was wrong! And everything about myself was wrong! And because of my false assumptions and my mistakes—my biggest one being that I dragged you and Thaleia in this—all 3 of us have to die. Thaleia's gone, it's only a matter of time before you do."

"I've told you already, I'm ok with it," Amruen insisted. "They want you to win, not me. All you need to do is kill Tiberius, and I can help you. And then you're practically home free! And you'll have proven to yourself and everyone else that you right!" Steele could feel a lump in her throat, and she hugged Amruen. Why was it that what she wanted to say was so hard?

"I still won't be right. I'll have to be as horrible as Tiberius in order to win. But the worst part is that I can't take you with me. I didn't expect to be proven wrong, I didn't expect myself to become this hypocrite, but most of all I didn't expect myself to really like you."

"What are you saying?" Amruen asked, although they both already knew the answer. Steele felt like crying, like somehow this was something to be ashamed of.

"I-like you, Amruen. A lot," Steele said, feeling that if she said "love" than the Arena would explode from the revelation. "I've grown too attached to you to be accepting of your death. You're the only person that's ever really shown any sympathy to me—and I might be the only one that's done the same for you."

"You are," Amruen replied. "But I don't see why you're so upset about it. You could have just told me you were falling in love with me!"

"I could have?!" Steele asked wildly. Here she was, a Career on the same level as Tiberius, a possible Victor, in combat, and yet she couldn't tell the only boy that had ever liked her that she was in love with him. "Well…what about you?"

Amruen thought for a moment, perhaps realizing the implications of this. The Capitol certainly lapped up romances, and if they liked him enough then perhaps he wasn't so doomed to die after all, as he had been predicting. But a romance between a Career that wanted to prove her moral superiority and an open rebel against the Capitol? What would they think of that?

"I'll love you," Amruen replied, "For as long as I can." Steele felt taken aback by his words, but she quickly realized what he meant; this was the Hunger Games, after all. Declarations of love never lasted. Because he couldn't promise that they'd be together forever in happiness, he had settled for the next best thing.

As if in response to their half romantic, half pragmatic relationship, some chimes rang. Four silver parachutes floated down. The first contained a can of potato chips with a strange, mustachioed human face on it. The second contained a large serving of some sort of meat—perhaps beef—meant for two, and to be eaten immediately. The third contained a syringe already filled with some liquid and a note:

_Use it when you feel that you might die, and there is no other hope left. –Enobaria_

The last parachute was the heaviest and addressed to Amruen. He opened it up and gasped breathlessly.

"Frag grenades!" he cried in delight. "Just like the ones from home!" Also included was another note:

_It took a lot to get these through. Be very careful with them, and be sure to show Panem just what these games do to people._

_-Ernest_

"Once we eat, we'll rest a bit. And then we need to back after Tiberius," Amruen reminded her.

"We should check out the temple first. We still have one key," Steele reminded him.

"Oh, yeah, right. But remember, they're setting it up so that we'll run into him again. Maybe not now, but definitely later. Be ready for it."

"I will," Steele said confidently, although she knew that she could never be too sure.

**Elodie Kruger**

She blinked rapidly at the sunlight that hit her eyes, surprised to find herself still alive that morning. Judging from how she was covered in sand, she was at the desert, not far from the ruined forest east of her. She could faintly smell the charred trees from where she was.

_What happened…? Oh, yes, now I recall: Julia. The fire. The poison. Copper. And yet, I'm alive._

She tried to inhale with a yawn only to find herself choking, feeling as if she was being strangled by someone or something from the inside. She heard the chimes and desperately looked upwards, snatching the most hopeful-looking parachute she could find. She desperately opened it as she sputtered and wheezed, finding just what she had expected: a bottle full of a dark brown liquid meant to liberate the lungs from the fumes of the poison ivy. No doubt she had acquired just a bit of it during her frantic escape from the fire. Also inside the box was a smaller vial of yellow liquid, which she also recognized.

She inhaled as she swallowed the medicine, forcing it to down her trachea instead of her esophagus so that it could remove the poison ivy blisters that had probably begun to develop in her lungs. It was unnatural and certainly unpleasant to be taking medicine this way, but she knew she had no other choice. She coughed and sputtered the way someone who has just swallowed water improperly would, reaching for the yellow medicine and swallowing it. It was meant to induce vomiting, and once it had done its job her ability to breathe was restored to normal. When it was all over, she read the note in the box:

_Take care not to get yourself infected with something. Next time you may not be so fortunate._

Elodie wanted to tear the note to shreds, the way Matthias was so nonchalant about all this. Still, he had sent her the medicine because he had wanted her to live, so although he might be unable to sympathize with her plight, he cared enough to prevent her from dying before he did.

She wondered just how long the man had to live as she checked her supplies. Capitolites could probably allow themselves to live for nearly a century if they wished, so given his wealth 85 meant he still had plenty of time left. Nevertheless, excluding recent sponsor gifts all she had left were her gauntlets, her dagger, her helmet, the key from Humbaba's temple, her poisoned apple, and 4 vials of poison. One, a dark purple, was a brief paralyzer; the second, a pink color, was a hallucinogenic; the third, an orange color, was a strange, Capitol-invented chemical that caused nausea and dizziness; and the last was clear, just a simple rattlesnake venom substitute. Of these four, none were fatal; she wasn't sure what sort of poison was in the apple.

Her other two sponsor gifts contained an ointment to soothe her numerous burns—most of them were mild, but Elodie could swear she had lost some hair in that debacle—and an unusual pie of some sort she had heard her escort refer to as "pizza". Feeling her stomach growl, she ate some and found it was actually pretty good, what with all the bits of melted cheese, circular meat things and tomato sauce on it. Even the crust was delicious.

She sat and ate, pondering her next move. The forest was destroyed, no question about that. And the Gamemakers had most likely allowed it the fire to destroy the whole region so that no one would consider going back. But Elodie also knew that she couldn't just stay in the desert.

_The island. I highly doubt anyone has gone there yet. But how do I get there? The distance between it and the Cornucopia is far, and I couldn't possibly swim all the way. Maybe the helmet could help?_

"Pardon me, but the smell of your delicious food is irrestible to someone of my caliber," a male voice droned in mock elegance. Elodie looked up to see the thief boy from 12. How he had survived for this long was a mystery to her, but now he was here, evidently looking for a fight. In his hands she could see an unusual staff; he had been to a temple as well, she realized.

"Excuse me," Elodie said politely, rising to her feet and gathering her things. "I've just gone through hell, and I'd very much like to avoid going through it again."

"I'm terribly sorry, but it's a bit of necessity for my survival for you to accept your inevitable death."

"And _I'm _terribly sorry that you're ignorant of who you're speaking to."

"Well—just die already!" the boy cried, pointing his staff towards her while Elodie's branches reached out towards him. She was abruptly hit with a gust of misty wind-refreshing in the desert, but she felt herself being knocked backwards a good distance. She quickly scrambled to her feet as she heard footsteps in the sand, shooting out her branches at the boy—Rocko Warner, she remembered—and punching him in the stomach. She quickly snatched his staff and drew it towards her while he wasted no time grabbing his sword. Holding the staff in her branches, she immediately aimed it at him and watched as he was sent flying, grabbing his sword as it was knocked away from him.

She stood over him and pointed both weapons at him, and she could see his eyes widen in surprise and shock that she had overwhelmed him so quickly. "I require some assistance," Elodie told him. "If you help me, then I will guarantee your position in the final 2, unless you betray me."

"And why should I trust someone that so casually disposed of her allies as if they were old garments?" Rocko challenged. Elodie froze. She had really hoped he wouldn't know about that.

"Thomas explained enough," Rocko went on. "I'm not associating myself with people even lower than I am designated. Now, if you would be so kind as to hand me my weapons back, I will respect your abilities and head to the island, far away from you."

"That's exactly where I'm going!" Elodie replied. Rocko raised an eyebrow.

"Well…than it looks like your wish is inevitably granted. Try to keep up," Rocko said as Elodie followed him, still holding his weapons. Once they reached the Cornucopia—it was noon now, they could both see—Rocko withdrew his scuba gear from the folds of his tunic, attached the oxygen tank he had stored away and changed in front of her once again.

"Do you have an extra?" Elodie asked awkwardly.

"No, so it seems that _my _wish is inevitably granted."

"Very well. I have another idea," Elodie said. Reaching her branches out again, she tested the waves, finding that with her additional limbs keeping herself afloat was simple. She found that she could even use her branches like stilts to lift herself above the surface of the water, although it was difficult to keep balance.

Rocko looked over his shoulder with dissatisfaction and was met with a smug smile from Elodie. She had a new tool to use, whether he liked it or not.

"Do you have an extra slice of pizza, at least?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," Elodie replied.

**AN: In regards to the hunger thing, it's still on. Hunger will go down one point per chapter. If I said per day before, I'm changing it so that it can be a factor in the Games. Here's everyone's current hunger status:**

**Dorea: Fine**

**Tiberius: Not Hungry**

**Steele: Full**

**Clyde: Not Hungry**

**Riley: Not Hungry**

**Darius: Not Hungry**

**Elodie: Fine**

**Dade: Fine (Dorea shared with him)**

**Amruen: Full**

**Rocko: Hungry**

**Lidda: Not Hungry**

**Riley's alliance (her, Darius and Lidda) has enough water so that their hunger will not go down in the next chapter, but everyone else's will drop by 1 point. When they eat food in the chapter, their hunger goes up. Just PM if you're unsure whether or not your tribute is in danger.**

**And now for Noiz's eulogy: I don't want to have a favorite tribute, but I'd be lying if I said that you weren't one of my favorites. Some people might have thought you were a bit…unrealistic, and they were right. But to me you were realistic enough that you were worth writing. I loved every moment with you, and had so many plans for you—but unfortunately, they did not include winning.**

**I loved your spying, willingness to blackmail and exploit, and the way you did it all while staying cool, in your own special way. I thought that your death was fitting because I had known from the beginning was that your main flaw was that even if you were caught, you decided that it wouldn't matter because you'd get away. But this time, you didn't, and I wanted you to die slowly so that you'd realize the consequences of your disreputable actions. But you never regretted your betrayal, even though it pained you in more than just a physical sense to carry out.**

**While Noiz may be dead, her weapons will live on. So for the trivia question, name the sci-fi book that bolt guns came from. This one is a bit obscure, much more so than my others, so you'll get 50 points for guessing, 75 for coming close and 100 if you get it right, plus the usual 20 for reviewing. **

**Here's a hint: It was a book published in 1968, but set in an AU 2010 (and meanwhile here it's still 2014 and there are no bolt guns in sight. That might be a good thing, though). All you have to do is name the title of the book.**


	37. Day 3, midday: Skirmishes with the gods

Day 3, midday: Skirmishes with the gods

**Clyde Morrisey**

_Ok, NOW it's time to get up and do something. These caves lead somewhere._

From inside the caves, he had no idea what time it was. As he gathered his things and moved along, Clyde heard a cannon but paid it little heed. Hopefully it wasn't Dorea, and if it was, what more could he do?

He focused his mind on the rocky path before him, taking note of all the numerous spots in which light from above entered the caves through small holes in the ceiling. The floor and walls were made out of an unusual white stone, and water occasionally dripped from stalagtites into small puddles, the splashes making echoes throughout the cave. Several times Clyde had searched the various diverting passageways only to find himself traveling in circles. He tried to form a mental map of this place in his mind; perhaps this was the perfect place for him to lose pursuers, or better yet cause tributes unfamiliar with the area to get lost.

He doubted that he would be killing anyone today, but back when he had had to kill the boy from 11—it seemed like years ago—he was aware of the ethical ramifications of his actions. He simply just didn't think about it much afterwards. He liked to see it as a sort of scavenger hunt; just find all the things and then you could go home.

Of course, if he had to kill someone that could fight back like Dorea or Tiberius, than he'd have to think of a new metaphor.

As the cave began to go deeper underground—Clyde tell by the decreasing light shafts in the ceiling of the cliffs—he could hear the churning of water around him, and soon even above him, as his surroundings began to darken. Sometimes it would get a bit lighter at dead ends, but as he was going down the correct path the darkness resumed and took on a bluish glow.

_I'm probably traveling benath the ocean floor or something. But I don't think the air in the cave would glow blue, would it? Maybe it's just an indicator._

Inching forward into the now almost-blinding darkness, Clyde asked aloud softly, "Where are you trying to get me to go?"

He got his answer several meters later, when a slab of rock closed behind him. Clyde heard more thudding sounds behind him, indicating that there had been something back in the caves that he hadn't known about, but he was more surprised by what was ahead of him.

It was stone door to another temple, at the end of a glowing blue hallway. Between the hallway and where he stood was a small antechamber formed by the cave itself, and Clyde could see two other passageways, one on either side of him. He felt that it would be important to note that there were two other routes to this temple still unsealed. Moving forward through the last narrow hallway to the door, he could see a trident depicted on each wall, pointed upwards.

_It means something. Something about who I'm fighting?_

_Just go in and stop being so damn curious._

The room inside the temple was a glass underwater dome, and above and around him Clyde could see fish swimming about. In fact, the area surrounding this temple was a coral reef, full of so many familiar sights; sea sponges, sea urchins, starfish of various colors, 3 different species of crab, even a few jellyfish that seemed a bit out of place to him. They all seemed to be congregated around the outside of the dome, and some such as the starfish were even on the dome itself, apparently anticipating something. Before Clyde could properly take in the scene, a voice boomed:

"**And so the son of the sea challenges his father for supremacy. Let us determine whether you are a legitimate heir. Poseidon does not surrender his jurisdiction to just any demi-god brought forth from District 4."**

A muscular man with a gray beard stood before Clyde, standing about 6 feet tall and appearing to be wearing nothing but a pair of green leggings that fit comfortably over his low body. And just like him, he wielded a trident. Were temple mutts programmed to wield whatever the tributes did?

_No, then they wouldn't be able to factor in alliances going into these places at once, like Dorea and I did with Hermes. This one—Poseidon—was programmed like this on purpose._

_They wanted you to come here. Better give them what they want._

_I don't have to do anything I don't want to._

_Then why are you here?_

Poseidon charged forward, roaring a guttural battle cry as he swung his trident at Clyde, who responded with his own. The two sparred as if they were Careers in a training center for a moment, but then Clyde gained the upper hand. Poseidon had an attack pattern, he could see, striking when he had an opening, giving a split second for him to block each and every time. And every few attacks Poseidon would swing his trident around and try to knock him in the head with the blunt end. Clyde quickly caught on to this and found opportune times to strike, stabbing and slashing with his trident for just a second before Poseidon could counter with his own.

Clyde had given Poseidon numerous scars from his strikes, but the god somehow seemed to be able to shrug off his wounds. But just as Clyde felt that the battle was ending, Poseidon sweeped his leg unexpectantly, knocking Clyde off his feet with surprise. Then Poseidon used the blunt end of his trident in an attempt to force him to flip over. Clyde did so painfully, but rather than finishing him off Poseidon snapped his fingers, then pointed his trident at Clyde challengingly. Looking around, Clyde could see that large holes had appeared in the dome, and water was filling in rapidly, along with the fish and other sea creatures. Once enough of them had entered and the water had filled the dome about halfway, the holes plugged up automatically. Now treading water, Poseidon's legs merged to form a fish-like tail, adapting himself to the new environment.

_This is what you get for asking for the private training room to flood._

Clyde readied his trident, struggling to block Poseidon's blows rather than going on the offensive like before. It was harder to strike with his trident underwater, and out of the corner of his eye he could see that the sea creatures were converging, altering themselves slightly to become the mutts that the Gamemakers had probably planned for them to be all along. The fish grew piranha-like teeth and tried to bite into his flesh, the sea urchins shot out their spines like throwing knives and hovered in the water, crabs pinched at him with claws sharp enough to make him bleed, and even the starfish tried to pile themselves in front of his face to obstruct his vision. Even all together they couldn't cause too much damage, but it was clear that they were meant to distract and immobilize while Poseidon delivered the killing blows.

Clyde's mind raced desperately for a solution as he swam about, trying to avoid Poseidon's jabs and the various sea creatures that were after him.

_Make them realize that they can't throw you away just yet. Appeal to them somehow. It's not about beating Poseidon, it's about making the Gamemakers realize that you're worth keeping around._

_Of course._

Clyde dove underwater, having previously tried to fight and avoid Poseidon on the surface while the creatures bothered him from below, sometimes even jumping out. As he dove down starfish latched onto his face, and a few crabs gripped onto his arms and legs even worse than before. But Clyde held out, knowing that Poseidon was following him. All he had to do was fight the way he had before in the private training room. Once he reached the bottom of the dome, his lungs still having a good supply of air still in them, Clyde tore off the starfish that obstructed his face as Poseidon descended, looking furious that this tribute was apparently stalling. Poseidon propelled himself forward through the water with his fish tail, and rather than worrying about fatal blows Clyde responded in kind, making sure to move about as the two sparred once again to demonstrate to a new audience his swimming ability.

He had mixed feelings about showing off like this; on one hand, this was clearly something that gave him an advantage over other tributes, especially considering that the Arena was about one eighth water this year. It showed the Capitolites that he was the perfect fighter from 4—just like Finnick, even though they were actually very different people. It was good to feel proud of himself for once, not having to worry about someone surpassing him. Here, he was dominant, not the thing that the Gamemakers had made for him that called itself the ruler of the seas.

But on the other hand, there was a nagging feeling inside Clyde that all of this was pathetic on his part:

_You're compensating for the lack of excitement you caused before. __You were boring, Clyde. You're not sexy, you're not funny, and you're just not interesting. You can fight underwater, but that's about it. And like a good little boy, you let the Gamemakers take you here._

No. He was not going to die because they declared him useless, he decided as Poseidon stabbed him in the left shoulder. He was going to fight back, he decided as he raked his trident across Poseidon's face. He was going to get through this and not drown, he decided as he took advantage of the god's momentary pause to bludgeon his head with the butt of his own trident. He was going to fight and maybe bleed, but definitely not die, he decided as he swam upwards, grabbing Poseidon's trident and leaving the god to swim after him. He was going to go home, he decided as he threw his trident down at Poseidon's face when he felt the god grab his foot in an attempt to drag him back under. Clyde's mouth just barely gasped for breath over the water before was forced back underwater, kicking Poseidon in the stomach and jamming his trident through his chest as sea creatures swarmed around him, now tearing for his flesh. Upon being stabbed, Poseidon vanished, and a single unknown object appeared at the bottom of the still-halfway flooded dome while the fish tore off a chunk of his arm. Clyde groaned in the form of bubbles but swam downward, knowing that the Gamemakers might not simply hand his prize to him.

He grabbed the thing—apparently some sort of weapon, but in his rush to flee the dome he simply tucked it under his arm, swimming back to the now opened entrance with a swarm of sea creatures still pursuing him. When he came back to the hallway from the caves, the door closed behind him and the water drained, leaving the few fish that had made it in with him to flop about helplessly as if they had never been hostile to begin with. Clyde waited for the creatures to die and took the ones he knew were edible, making his way back through the caves with Poseidon's artifact. Finally able to examine it more closely, he saw that it was a harpoon gun of some sort, only in addition to a spear there were 3 additional claws. Testing it once on a rock and then pressing a button to retract it, Clyde realized that it was meant to double as a grappling hook. At the moment, he could not find it in himself to be grateful for his prize, but he knew that later on, when he was less exhausted, it would prove to be very useful. But in the meantime, he was able to think one coherent thought:

_The island. It's been out there waiting for me. I need to get to it._

**Dade Novak**

The girl from 1—Dorea-was all right. In fact, she wasn't even rude or bitchy, and after her first few threats from before she had made little demands on him.

She had even helped him set up the traps, teaching him things that he hadn't known before, like how to use rope for snares and how to hide tripwire in thick piles of leaves. Wandering through the forest together on their way to the temple, they chatted quietly as they set up traps that one would be likely to step in if they came from the south, east or north.

"So how'd you get tons of sponsors?" Dade asked after Dorea had deemed that there was no one else about.

"I'm not really sure," she admitted. "I think it might have had to do with how I was so teasy during the chariot rides and my interview. Or it could just be my parents. I don't want to talk about them." But this dismissal only made Dade more curious.

"Did they make you do things you couldn't?" he asked.

"Not quite. Instead I was the instigator."

"The what?"

"The one that was making them think I was ready for the Games."

"Oh. So what did you guys do over in 1? Aside from learning how to kill people?"

"I'd rather not say," Dorea replied. That answer wasn't satisfactory to Dade. He had to know things about people that they'd "rather not say", because it was his only way of gaining leverage. Sure, this girl was tough, but it wouldn't be a fun Hunger Games if he didn't have some kind of advantage over her."

"Were they hookers?" he demanded rudely.

"No."

"Strippers?"

"No!"

"Heh heh, I'll bet they were something bad. Nobody would want someone like _their _kid to win," he taunted. It only occurred to him seconds later that this girl had the power to kill him.

"If you _must know, _Dade, my father was the mayor of our District," Dorea replied sternly, clearly holding back her rage. His jaw dropped in surprise.

"Wow, the mayor?! No way! You could have just had your folks pay their way out of you going into the Games!"

"Perhaps," Dorea said. "But I told you, I instigated my own arrival here. I strove to be the best, worked as hard as I could, and learned just about everything I could. And that included knowing how to make traps. But you see, it was all just to establish myself as better than the others. A cut above the rest, if you will. I had to be, I was the mayor's daughter. And when they caught on, they arranged for me to be the pre-selected volunteer. I could have refused, but I didn't."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Dade. I don't think I could explain it to you. You're from…where exactly?"

"7."

"Exactly. No one ever drilled into your brain that you had to be the best fighter—and I added on 'smartest' to myself—since you were little. Your life was easy, and you only ended up here because you were unlucky, not because you were being naïve and thought you could win."

"But you _can, _though! You're super-smart and tough, and you're better than me at things!" he insisted. Saying that was a bit sobering for him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to cry in front of this girl. "The only reason I'm doing so well at all is because I had some notes from my mentor about how this place works."

"Notes?" Dorea asked.

"Yeah, it's hard to explain," Dade replied. "But all I can really do is try and last the crazy stuff out. But now that you're here, I have a chance at getting at whatever is in those temples so who knows? Maybe I'll be walking out of here and you won't." He hoped to make it clear to her that even though they were allies, she couldn't expect for him to suddenly pity her if she were in some dire situation and he had the option of getting her out.

Dorea didn't seem at all surprised or taken aback by this, probably because she was a Career and used to people saying things like that. "That would be something, wouldn't it? You'd be just like your mentor, wouldn't you be? I watched the Games he was in."

"You did?" Dade asked nervously. If she had really watched his Games, then didn't that mean that she knew exactly what his strategy was? Or had she known all along and just decided not to factor it into her plans for victory?

"Yes. Don't worry. I think your hiding skills are actually admirable," Dorea remarked. "Much better than Noiz. I can only see you as an opponent, Dade, not one to hate or as an obstacle in my way, but just someone that plays these Games different from me. That's why I'm glad I found you. You were easy to coerce, and I was able to be truthful with you. If I have to kill you, just know that's out of necessity and not out of some inner desire for bloodshed. Not all of us Careers are like that."

"But that Tiberius guy, the boy from 2, is?" Dade asked.

"Yes, although he tends to concentrate all of his energy into his District partner."

"What the hell? Does he have like some weird hate-crush on her or something? That's just kind of messed up. What a psycho!"

"It's complicated, Dade."

Minutes later he had let them both to the temple, just as she had hoped he would.

"Thanks, Dade. I'll let you go first, if you want. I'm more concerned with capturing and killing Tiberius than with whatever's inside there."

"No way!" Dade protested. "I did what you wanted, no you do what I want! You come in with me and help me get the thing or I'll go get Tiberius and tell him where you are!" Dorea raised an eyebrow in surprise, and he could see a faint, nervous smile appear on her face.

"W-well…that's very resourceful of you," she admitted nervously. Dade smirked smugly.

"Yeah, I knew you'd be afraid of him, what with the way you kept going on and on about him. But I think you can understand why I'm doing this." With a sigh, Dorea nodded. He could almost swear she was faking it or something. Nobody could be this tolerant of threats and blackmail, could they?

"I do, completely," Dorea replied.

"Great!" Dade said. "Because now I have something to tell you, since you seem to actually want to put up with me. Unlike my dad."

"Ok, what is it?" she asked. Dade swallowed hard. This Career girl deserved it. She'd spared him once, maybe she'd do it again. It wasn't like there was anyone else he could ask, anyway."

"Thanks," he said simply. "Thanks for being a good ally, and not a retarded one. Do you know why I don't have any other allies? It's because people suck. I'll bet you know a little bit about what I'm talking about, you're a smart girl. They'll look for all your flaws and exploit them and make fun of your for them, whether it's something you can change about yourself or not. That's what they did with me, so I just returned the favor. But animals don't judge. They're better than us, really, especially since they only kill each other because they need to, not because they want to or because somebody is making them. That's why Sssam is my token—he's better than a bunch of wimpy tributes my age put together. And so if I don't make it out of here, and you do…could you take Sssam with you and let him go on your Victory Tour?"

"It's the least I could do, I suppose. Certainly," Dorea replied. Dade blinked back tears and added:

"And…and could you take my other pets and let them go? I was…I just wanted them to stay, so I put them in cages. But after being in my own cage, I realize that I was too harsh on them. If I wanted them to be my friends, I didn't have to do that to them. But I'll bet they understand now, even if they're not watching. Could you do that for me, Dorea? Please? My family will probably be ok with it unless you kill me!" Dorea smiled.

"Sure, Dade," she said with a bit of hesitation, as if she felt like she was making some big decision she couldn't take back. From his point of view, she was. "I'll do what you ask. Sssam goes home, no matter what."

They shook hands and entered the temple, ready for whatever they would face.

**Dorea Calis**

The pair entered the temple, and while she could see that Dade was a bit unnerved by the appearance of this place—it was nothing like Herme's temple—Dorea was still pondering their previous conversation.

Getting Ssam home wasn't an issue for her, but she was angry that Dade had asked her to do it. Before coming here, she had assumed that it would be easy for her to kill non-Career tributes; they would have just been like game to catch in a hunt, although she had decided that she wouldn't be gruesome with their deaths. Like she had told Dade, this whole thing was just a high-stakes game to her.

But now things were different. Dade had opened up about himself, and now it was difficult for her to see him as a victim whose life was going to be prolonged for her convenience. Killing a 12 year old wouldn't be hard, but what if that 12 year old had a more legitimate reason to go home than she did?

_And the worst part, _Dorea thought, _Is that he said all those things on purpose. He got me to open up, and he's taking everything he's learned about me from a strategic point of view. That was what I was supposed to do. I tried to learn a little bit about everyone, but not enough to get to know them. Just what was necessary. I know too much about Dade now, and he's realized that I won't exploit it while he can do so with whatever he's learned about me._

_Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Dade said something about "punishing" his classmates. He's just a schoolyard bully, they always issue empty threats, right? I don't know. And he knows that I don't know._

_Just don't worry about him for now. When the time comes, you'll have the strength you need. The strength to kill any of them._

"I can barely see in here!" Dade remarked to bring her out of her thoughts. After the short hallway all the temples seemed to have, the large main room was larger than Hermes', as she had expected. But more surprisingly there were 3 candles casting faint orange glows, two of to the sides and one directly in front of them. They were the only lighting in the room, giving the temple an ominous appearance.

"So how dangerous are these temple guys?" Dade asked.

"I have a feeling this place would be hostile than what either of us would be accustomed to," Dorea replied. "Get your battle claws ready, and leave most of the fighting to me. And when I order you to do something, you had better do it." Dade glared at her, but the two moved forward, shuddering when they heard a rasping feminine voice say:

**"****Just as 3 of us remain, so I, Hecate, have 3 faces with which to unleash my anger, frustration, and grievance." **Her voice was surprisingly gentle despite being so eerie. A comely woman in gray robes appeared before them, her red hair falling just above her shoulders. The expression on her face was one of curiosity rather than malice.

But Dorea knew better. "Veer off to her left, our right. Slash at her side while I take her head-on," she told Dade. Asking no questions, the boy wasted no time doing what she wanted. He was masked by the darkness, so she was confident that he would be safe for an initial sneak attack. She took 3 throwing knives and one of her broadswords out of her backpack, quickly while Dade waited in the shadows. Hecate, meanwhile, had magically summoned a sword and was dashing forward to meet her.

Dorea threw her first knife, hitting the goddess just above her chest and a little to the left. A normal human would probably have been fatally wounded, but as Dorea suspected Hecate was mostly unfazed. The Gamemakers would probably only let her win if she was able to do something similar to what she had just done several times in a row.

Dade appeared just after her knife throw, slashing his battle claws at her side with a yell of fury. Although Dorea was a bit irked that he had felt that he needed to indicate his presence, the sneak attack was nonetheless successful in putting another dent in her.

But what she saw next was a surprise. Hecate blocked her attack with her broadsword, pushing her away a few feet. Dorea had to step back a bit in recoil, but when she was ready to strike again Hecate's face had disappeared. Looking over at Dade, who had a look of fright on his own face, she saw that a growling canine face with an elongated neck had appeared where Hecate's left cheek had been, snapping at Dade's leg with a deadly bite. Dade screamed in pain but ran away, even though from Dorea's perspective he had plenty of chances to swipe at the dog-face's snout.

_Of course. He's not used to animals being angry. But what's Hecate's third face? And since she can only show one at a time…_

"Go around to her right!" Dorea cried to Dade. "Slash her neck from behind!" Dade did as he was ordered, running around to get behind Hecate while Dorea hurled a knife at the dog-face as its neck twisted to turn and lunge at her ally again. The canine monstrosity bled tremendously on impact, nearly foaming at the mouth before suddenly retracting inside Hecate's body. Dorea could see Dade slash the goddess' neck like she had asked, and the creature groaned in pain.

_We're getting at it, but I still think the heads are the key. We got one so far._

Now on Hecate's right, Dade slashed his claws at the blank, eerily featureless head for as long as he could before a bald, circular, white face emerged, full of round craters. Dorea realized that this face was meant to mimic the moon, but she had no idea what sort of powers it could possibly have. She quickly found out when Dade was sent reeling from a white energy blast from the menacing-looking moon face. Unlike the canine face, this one couldn't stretch out, and it looked too rocky to be vulnerable to blades.

"Dodge its lasers and stab its eyes!" Dorea cried to Dade, who was having some trouble standing after the blast. She rushed to his aid as the moon face was about to fire once more, blocking its shot with her broadsword. To her surprise, the moon face practically crumbled as it retracted, having been hit by the reflected blast; its own laser had oddly bounced directly back at it. Dorea chalked it up to Gamemaker ingenuity; they had deliberately given the moon face this weakness, just like the dog face's weak point was its neck.

Hecate, who had been mostly standing still while cycling through its faces, now turned to attack, the face of the woman that they had seen initially now replaced with a hag-like witch's. Dorea's blade met the goddess' conjured one, although she mostly fought defensively due to the fact that Dade was just behind her.

"Are you up?!" she cried frantically as her neck was nearly struck at by Hecate's own blade.

"Ugh, I'm fine!" Dade replied with a groan that sounded the contrary. He certainly had spirit, she'd give him that.

"Get the back of her neck again!" Dorea cried. "But this time dig your claws deep! Just like you would with a knife!" As she was speaking, the moon face reappeared, looking distorted when placed right next to the right cheek of the witch's face. Now Dorea had to avoid energy blasts in addition to sword strikes.

_Guess I was right about the back of the neck; it'll shut down all the heads, hopefully. All up to you, Dade. I can only hold off for so long!_

She saw him run around and noticed the dog face reemerging a second time, apparently having only been temporarily defeated like the moon face, which now shot at Dorea just when it knew it could hurt her rather than itself. Dorea tried to throw her last knife at the dog face's neck, but the witch face saw what was happening and obliterated with some sort of spell from her free hand. Dorea could hear barking and Dade screaming in fright, clearly only batting away the dog face's head defensively.

"You _need _to slash its snout!" Dorea cried. "Get it to retract so you can kill this thing!" She was worried that her words had fallen on deaf ears, but just as she heard the dog head growl accompanied with a faint crunch, Dade yelled in terror and defiance. Dorea heard the dog face wimper from its snout being slashed, and then a gurgling sound as its throat was slit. Then she saw the witch and moon faces' eyes grow wide in horror, and she breathed a sigh of relief as Hecate crumbled to the ground. She—It—was dead.

Dorea sighed with relief as lights came on in the temple from nowhere, and their prizes were revealed. She smiled at Dade, glad that he had pulled through and saved her life, but then she gasped.

The dog face had bitten down on his shoulder near his neck, very close to his jugular artery. Dade's eyelids were fluttering, and it was clear that he had become weak from rapid blood loss.

"I can save you," she muttered as Dade practically fell into her arms. "Let's just get outside and tend to your wounds."

Dade had gone unconscious by the time she left the temple and laid him out on the grass outside, ignoring the temple loot for now. She took out the bandages from her first-aid kit and groaned when she realized that she had used most of the large ones on Rex's less fatal wound, ironically. But she did her best with what she had, taking disenfectants and piecing the bandages together, wrapping them around his chest, under his arm, and back around again. All she had to do was stop the bleeding and let the tissues repair themselves, and he'd be fine.

Once that was done, Dade opened his eyes faintly. "Stupid bitch…" Dorea's jaw nearly dropped, but then she realized that Dade was probably referring to Hecate, not her. Hopefully he'd regain full consciousness in minutes now that his blood wasn't leaving his body en masse.

But then she heard footsteps that made her heart sink. Heavy, yet furtive, footsteps that came from someone who had no reason to hide.

_Tiberius. He's here._

**AN: I'm incredibly sorry that I haven't updated sooner! Due to me wanting to take a break and my brother, I haven't been writing as much as I had been before lately. School hasn't quite started yet for me, though, at least, and I highly doubt it will slow me down greatly.**

**Nevertheless, there's a lot I wanted to do with this chapter, but the temple fight scenes just took too long. I don't know if you're getting tired of them, given that nobody's died in one yet, but if you are, don't worry. There are only 2 more left to show; one is obscure, the other you should all recognize because it's Greek.**

**Also, sorry about there being no deaths. There will be more soon, I promise.**

**Hunger Status:**

**Dorea: Not Hungry**

**Tiberius: Very Hungry**

**Steele: Fine**

**Clyde: Very Hungry**

**Riley: Not Hungry**

**Darius: Not Hungry**

**Elodie: Satiated**

**Dade: Not Hungry**

**Amruen: Fine**

**Rocko: Very Hungry**

**Lidda: Not Hungry**

**Sponsor points list:**

**Platrium—655**

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**Trivia question: None. Sorry.**


	38. Day 3, evening: Unstable bonds

Day 3, evening: Unstable bonds

**Amruen Neversky**

He awoke just as the sun began to set and shook Steele awake.

"Is he here?" she whispered frantically as Amruen started for the temple, his flamberge in his hand. He knew it was better to hold it with both hands, but if Steele could see how strong and muscular he was underneath his malnourished body, then maybe—

_What's gotten into you? And what does it matter, anyway? You won't be seeing her for much longer, anyway._

"Oh, are we just going into the temple?" Steele asked.

"Yeah. We've got a key, so we should check it out. We'll need something to stand a chance against Tiberius when he comes back, and chances are we'll find it in there." He unlocked the door to the temple and let her go in first in an attempt to be courteous. But it seemed that she didn't notice. It became clear to him then that no matter what she felt for him, she knew now that it was better not to show it. The Gamemakers might try to separate them or "test" their relationship if it stayed overt, but if they saw it as one that had been deliberately faked to get the Capitol's attention, then perhaps they would have more respect for them. Most likely, Amruen thought, their conversation had been edited so that their relationship seemed genuine, at least for now. Only the Gamemakers knew the truth—or at least they thought they did.

_It's too confusing, don't think about. Just do what Steele wants. It's not like you could survive in the Arena on your own, anyway._

The temple, rather than being a definite shape such as a circle or a square, had a room that looked as if someone had tried to tunnel through a cave or blow up a section of wall with dynamite. The look was especially unusual since he and Steele were positive that the temple's hallway hadn't led underground, and it had looked just like Tiurakh's on the outside. Amruen could already tell that the rocky, underground-like interior of the temple gave a clue as to what the god they had to fight would be like.

**"****Centuries have gone by, and the mountain feels lonely. It has no one to protect, and no one will revere it. And now my last hope must be extinguished by my own might. Brace yourselves for the strength of Apu, guardian of this mountain."** The voice was somber, and Amruen wondered whether it too felt as if it was being held against its will.

He and Steele did as the god asked when it appeared—a giant humanoid made out of a series of connecting rocks, just a bit taller than Amruen and having gleaming, almost sinister orange eyes. Whatever regret it was feeling it managed to suppress, quickly tossing one of the rocks that made up its hands and Amruen, leaving him no choice but to block with his sword. Rather than shattering the rock bounced back, returning to Apu as if it were a boomerang. Amruen could see Steele just ahead of him, blocking the rocks that headed her way with her shield and attempting to strike at Apu with her sword, only for it to have no effect.

"Lemme try!" Amruen cried frantically as he dashed forward, slamming his sword down on Apu's rocky shoulder. He wasn't trying to impress or "save" Steele; the intensity of the battle had drawn away all those feelings. But still the attack had no effect. Apu knocked him aside with its massive stone arm, raising it again over Amruen's head in an effort to crush him. Amruen quickly reached for his flamberge and lifted it above his chest with all his might, staving off Apu's arm long enough for him to free himself from his vulnerable position and re-arm. Steele was also facing Apu, trying to strike at the god's face. Apu tried to kick and punch her away, but she each time it struck she used her shield to block the attack.

Amruen quickly saw what Steele was trying to do and decided that he would focus on the eyes as well; if the god was so adamant about protecting them then they had to be its weakness. However, his sword wasn't meant for gouging out eyes, and the vibrations given by his flamberge had little effect on Apu, probably because the stone didn't carry them as well. Still, his weapon's ability to negate a crushing blow from the rock monster god was better than nothing.

"I'll keep him busy!" Amruen cried, approaching Steele's side so that Apu would be compelled to engage him and ignore her for the moment. Apu did just that, aiming a rock-encrusted punch at Amruen, who quickly responded by swinging his flamberge with equal force. The two fighters recoiled briefly from the momentum while Steele jammed her sword into Apu's left eye. The god groaned in pain, and Amruen could see a few pebbles fall to the floor from the ceiling. He slammed the side of his sword into Apu's side, prompting it to attack once more. Apu angrily swung its arm and Amruen, sending him flying backwards and flat on the floor once again while Steele gouged out the god's other eye.

At this, the rocks that made up the god collapsed and fell as if they were ordinary rocks, and Amruen stood to his feet, feeling a bruise on his back.

"**See what fools they have made us gods? Don't let them turn you into one, too."** Some of the rocks in the temple began to glow after Apu's warning, serving as lights to illuminate the loot of the temple; grappling hooks, more meat, a small slingshot with plenty of decent-sized pebbles scattered around it, and a strange cluster of rocks with a metal handle connecting them. At the spot where the handle branched off and connected to the 3 rocks was a small button. Steele picked up the large—yet surprisingly lightweight object—and concluded that it had to be a shield.

"But what does the button do?" Amruen asked, pressing it for her. The 3 rocks making the shield shot out and slammed themselves against the temple wall with surprising force. Without them the shield was just an unusual 3-pronged device. "Sorry," he muttered.

"I don't think you broke it," Steele replied, "It just has to be reloaded." She pressed the button again to see if it did anything, and just as she did the rocks returned themselves back into place. "Wow," she remarked, too impressed with the weapon and exhausted from the fight to express a lot of enthusiasm.

"The rock is like a shield that can launch itself out, like a boomerang. It's just like how Apu tried to do that to us," Amruen pointed out. Steele discarded her old shield.

"I think this will be more useful," she decided as they gathered the rest of the loot. Amruen took the sling, deciding that it would serve quite nicely as a projectile weapon to soften an opponent up before coming in for the kill with his flamberge.

As they emerged out of the temple, they found that the sun had set. Amruen, glad that today was finally over, was ready to relax, but Steele grabbed his hand and dragged him forward.

"We can't stay in one place," she urged. "Tiberius could be on our tail." Amruen nodded, feeling thankful that he had found such a great ally in a horrible place like this. It would certainly make his last few hours—and he hoped they were farther away than he had thought—more bearable. But then, he realized something:

_Tiberius is after HER. Not me. I don't have to get myself involved if I don't want to. I can just leave now. And she'd probably understand why, even if it broke her heart._

_Or...even better. I'll take her place. The Capitol probably wants me dead a whole lot more than her._

But when the time came, would he just be a coward like before?

**Lidda McGaffigan**

"Lidda, don't scare us anymore. Just eat," Riley insisted. She looked up and glanced at her, then back at her food. Darius had a similar concerned expression on his face, but now both of them seemed so distant to her.

_How can I trust either of you?_ It was a question that lingered around in her mind, but she dared not say it. She couldn't even be sure how they would respond to that type of question.

"I'm sorry," Lidda said finally. "I'm just kinda pissed that Noiz wanted to kill us. And after all she said to me!" Lidda sobbed a bit, but most of her tears had already been spent. She didn't care what the others thought about her willingness to show emotion; it wasn't like it betrayed her suspicions or anything. So what if she didn't act like a dull rock all the time?

"But we stopped her, Lidda. She didn't get to kill any of us _or_ take our key," Riley reminded her. "Darius knew what she was up to, and you finished her off." Lidda hung her head in shame at that. Technically, none of them had killed anyone while she had—not another tribute, at least. They wouldn't know how it felt to have so much guilt on your shoulders, to know that you extinguished a human life that might have been very much like your own once, before the Arena changed them. Lidda thought back to what Noiz had told her about her life back in 3. She hadn't lied, Lidda could tell, but after what had happened today she found it hard to believe that that Noiz and the Noiz she had just killed were the same person.

"Stop reminding me I killed her," Lidda muttered, thinking that she might have been more forceful if she wasn't so emotionally drained by her grief. "I don't want to think about it." She could see that Darius wanted to say something, but wisely was keeping his mouth shut. Lidda slowly ate her food, not wishing to say anymore.

"Well, regardless of how you feel, there are a few things I need to say to both of you," Darius spoke up. "We've been in the desert, and we've seen the mountains. But we obviously can't stay here. We'll either have to go back through the desert or keep going west throught the mountains. Either way, I can't guarantee that we'll be safe from other tributes. What do you both think?"

"Desert, definitely," Lidda replied flatly.

"I'd prefer we stay in the mountains, actually," Riley admitted. "We were nearly out of sunblock by the time we reached the mountains, and here it was so much cooler that I didn't need any. I chalk it up to Arena weirdness, but either way I'm just telling you both that going back through the desert would be unpleasant."

Normally she would have regarded this statement neutrally, but after what she had been through Lidda could feel her blood boil.

"What the FUCK?!" she screamed into Riley's face. "How can you bitch and whine about getting your precious skin sunburned after someone in our VERY OWN ALLIANCE tried to kill all 3 of us?! How can you think of you and your stupid personal needs over serious things, like the fact that we could all get killed just because we can't reach an agreement?"

"Well, it's not hard," Riley responded harshly. "I mean, _you're_ like that all the time. You fussed when you got battle claws instead of glass shards, you were so picky about what you wanted Cinna to do with you, you drew way too much attention to yourself, and you've done quite a bit of complaining during our journey. You're much more of a whiny bitch than I am!" Lidda felt a lump in her throat and her lip began to quiver.

"Well at least I don't make myself out to perfect and think I can take on any Career, and I don't waste time making lame jokes directed at my own _friends_!" she countered. Riley stood up and grabbed her club, taking Darius by the hand and forcing him to stand up as well.

"I don't have to sit through this," she remarked. "Good luck on your own, Lidda! I'm sure an angel mutt will show up from the Gamemakers and just let you win because you're just so damn charming and adorable!" When she began to walk away, Lidda's sorrow at Riley's insults turned into rage, and she gripped her ally's leg with her hand.

"Get back here!" Lidda cried. "We don't have to leave until tomorrow!"

"Maybe not, unless I'm trying to get away from you," Riley pointed out. "By the way, what made you think I _wanted _you as an ally?" Lidda thought for a moment, feeling stupid for not being able to give a legitimate answer quickly. She had a few in mind, but she had a feeling that Riley's response would be much different from what she could predict.

"Because…I don't know, strength in numbers?" she guessed. Riley shook her head.

"I wanted you because I needed someone to keep my sanity up," she explained, "To banter with during training. Darius I wanted as an ally because I knew he was smart, and more of a brawns kind of girl. You were just company, moral support for the days ahead, really. You weren't supposed to make it out of that bloodbath."

"Riley, that's a bit harsh," Darius replied with a bit of assertion to his soft tone.

"WHAT?!" Lidda cried. "I was _too _going to survive the bloodbath! All I needed to do was grab a few things with you guys and go! And you were all with me when we fought Thor! You saw how tough I was!"

"Yeah, I guess I was wrong," Riley said. "But you know what? I think I'll manage this late in the Games without you. Don't get me wrong, you're better than I thought. But you're not good enough to win the Games, unlike Darius and I. We both have an actual chance, each in our own ways. I wanted to keep you around for a while, but now you've gotten too damn annoying! And if you feel bad about killing Noiz, well too bad! It's kill or be killed, Lidda. I thought you'd know that by now, but I guess you're just like all the other 12 year olds that have been in the Arena before you: cannon fodder with no chance in hell of surviving without people feeling just a bit sorry for you. But unlike other 12 year olds, you push them away. Maybe Noiz was right to try and ditch us."

Lidda was frozen in horror, although tears still tickled her cheeks. It was all true. Everything she had thought was true.

"I thought you weren't like that, Riley," she said, reaching slowly for her battle claws. "I thought I could trust you to get me through this. But I was wrong. You've just been waiting for a chance to betray me, all along. Just like Noiz. That's why you didn't care at all while I was crying my head off after killing her; you thinking about doing some killing of her own." Riley chuckled cynically while Darius looked on.

"No, Lidda, I wasn't," she muttered as she raised her club. "But if you really want yourself to be right all the time—who am I to ruin a little girl's dream?" Lidda put on her battle claws and backed away slightly in preparation for the fight, but it never came. Instead Darius punched Riley in the face.

"Stay out of this Darius, I know you want her dead too!" Riley cried, but she was abruptly slapped in the face.

"Will you both go back to being the way you were for just a BIT longer?!" he shouted even louder than Lidda could. "Can you imagine what Noiz would think of us right now if she were watching this? What the Capitol thinks? What your _families _will thinkwhen they'll see this?! You're both acting like the savages the Capitolites make us out to be, and hardly anything has happened yet! So Noiz was going to betray us, all right. But don't tell me you both didn't see it coming!" Lidda wanted to admit that she had forgotten the nature of how Noiz had joined them, but she said nothing, glad that Darius was defending her from Riley.

"This doesn't have anything to do with that," Riley insisted. "I've had it with Lidda."

"So have I, but do you see me killing her?" Darius demanded. "No, you don't. Like it or not, we're all allies, just like we were in the training center. I shouldn't have to tell you that we'll all have to betray each other eventually, but right now we still don't have to worry about that. There are plenty of other dangerous people in the Arena that have gotten this far with us, and it might take all 3 of us to take them down. We each have our own talents and strategies in battle, but the important thing is that we _stay _a team. I thought you were the leader, Riley, you of all people should have been prepared to put up with us. You made this alliance, after all, even though you didn't have to. Even if you win, would you rather be remembered as the girl who killed her allies in a fit of rage or the girl that learned the value of teamwork in a place where it wasn't supposed to be?"

"I'm sorry," Riley said to Lidda.

"I forgive you, I guess. Now just don't bother me again, I don't want to her any more of your stupid jokes!" Lidda replied, eating her food a bit more hasty.

"You're not innocent in this either, Lidda," Darius pointed out. "Look, what Noiz did was awful and horrible. But it was bound to happen. If you lash out at people and get paranoid about them betraying you, then I won't be surprised if you turn into Noiz, exploiting people and throwing them away when you're done with them. Do you want to be exactly like the person that betrayed you?" Lidda, feeling ashamed at his words, said nothing, instead nodding her head. Darius confiscated their weapons and placed them beneath his bow and arrows, right next to their dwindling energy drink and water bottles. The food they were eating was their last for now.

"We've already seen the Games corrupt one person," Darius reminded them. "I don't want to see it corrupt two more. Just think about what I said and get some sleep. We'll compromise by traveling on the edge of the desert. We can retreat into the mountains if someone dangerous comes from the south." And with that he wandered off a bit to lie down and rest for the night, even though it wasn't all that late yet.

Saying nothing, Riley started for Lidda. She cowered in fear for a moment before she felt herself receive a hug.

"I'm so sorry. I just…I just want to go home," she muttered.

"Me, too," Lidda replied.

But the big question on her mind was who wanted it more.

**Tiberius Townsend**

Did they honestly think he couldn't hear them? How foolish were they?

_I came here for a reason, so don't stand in my way. _He didn't want to say this out loud for fear of looking foolish, and that was the last thing he wanted to be right now.

He was beginning to think that there was no way to impress sponsors enough to send him gifts. Perhaps they hated him or simply saw him as the "villain" of the Arena or the "evil" tribute. If they did, then they had obviously taken Steele's way of thinking to heart.

_And that's what I'm here for. I'm not here to be a psychotic, revenge-seeking maniac—although if I was you people would have no right to fuss about it. I'm here to restore balance to the Games. To make it so that every one capable of fighting his or her way to victory gets the chance. Good and evil? There's no such thing in the Games, Steele and Capitolites. There's only 24 teenagers trying to prove to you that their life is worth something._

"But I can't say that out loud, can I?" Tiberius muttered under his breath. He felt his foot step on something, and then a pile of leaves rustled just a few feet ahead of him, behind a tree. He sneered.

"I hope for your sake that this was only the first line of your defenses!" Tiberius called out to whoever was out there. It was someone, he knew, but most likely not Steele. She knew nothing about traps. Tiberius used the handle of his naginat to brush away the leaves that led to the bush that had just rustled, uncovering a gleaming metal bear trap meant to chomp down on his foot. He took a tree branch and fed the trap with it. Then he moved on, keeping his eyes on the ground.

On his way to the temple he found several sets of tripwire, 4 boulders lodged in snare traps meant to crush his skull, and 5 knives which had had their blades poking just out of the ground. Had he been hurrying he might not have seen them, but with careful inspection he was able to navigate around the traps. Although he deliberately triggered most of them with his weapon or with nearby debris, he left 3 of each type still around.

He buried 2 of the other knives he had found and carried two with him in his free hand. Finally he approached the entrance of the temple, noticing the footprints at the entrance that pointed towards the door. The Gamemakers, he had noticed, had stopped hiding trails recently, perhaps to make it more difficult for tributes that preferred hiding to fighting to remain hidden.

He slowly opened the door of the temple, noticing that it had already been unlocked. As he slid the door open, he could hear an arrow being notched on a bow.

_A fighter that had hoped to get the jump on me, _he realized. _You had better be a good challenge._

Tiberius swung open the door while still gripping it with his hands, seeing what was umistakably Dorea firing the arrow. He immediately closed the door partially to block the shot, and when he heard it collide with the stone he swung the door completely open, knowing Dorea would be unable to string her bow again before he could get to her.

But to his surprise, Dorea emerged on her own, having dropped her bow and now holding a broadsword and a shield. Tiberius could also see with surprise that she was wearing an iron chestplate, and he realized with jealousy and frustration that Dorea was not only more popular than him, she was also more popular than Steele. Not that this bothered him for more than a few seconds.

Tiberius had to use his naginata defensively, blocking most of Dorea's strikes with her sword. At the same time, his attacks were blocked by her shield, and even when he managed to get past that Dorea still was able to reposition herself so that his blade only tapped at her chestplate. At the moment they were mostly at an impasse, but Tiberius knew that as the less protected of the two he was bound to get hurt first.

Still, giving up or retreating wasn't his plan in the slightest. He paused for just a second while fighting Dorea, giving her time to strike at him—and for him to strike at her. His face contorted in pain as Dorea stabbed him on the side of his chest, shifting to the right so that she was nowhere near his heart. Next he jabbed the blunt end of his nagianata in her stomach, then kicked at her legs to try and sweep her out of her stance. To his disappointment Dorea stood her ground, but she was stunned long enough for Tiberius to punch her in the face.

While she reeled backwards from the blow and covered her face with her hand to prevent it from happening again, Tiberius used his naginata to slash at her arms, causing her to drop her sword and shield. But to his surprise Dorea was still capable of holding her own, and just as he was ready to slit her throat she promptly kicked him in the side with her foot. Tiberius managed to hold his ground, but his weapon was knocked out of his hands like Dorea's had been.

The two glanced at each other briefly, knowing that if they tried to pick up their weapons they would be left vulnerable. It was now a standoff of sorts.

_But Dorea has an advantage. She can go back into the temple and get something else. All I have is the naginata. But to do that, she'd have to abandon her weapons to me. Would I be able to grab them and stop her before she could get to safety? Is there something in there that could give her a tremendous advantage? _He decided that there was one way to solve this problem.

"Why is this temple so important to protect, Dorea?" he asked in the best "misunderstanding" tone he could muster. "I thought you said there was mostly crap inside. You know, dead ends?" Dorea's eyes widened, realizing that she had never told Tiberius what he already knew. He made no indication that he already knew; he wanted to see if she would try and persuade him to leave. More broadly, would she try and keep up a charade when it wasn't possible, or would she admit to something?

"I…I was mistaken," Dorea replied. "This temple was different from the last one—wait, you know it's called a temple?" He nodded, and she realized that he knew.

"I can understand why you would lie to me, Dorea," Tiberius said smugly.

"I didn't want you finding out! Did Dade blab to you?" she asked.

"Dade? The boy from 7? I've been looking for him," Tiberius remarked. Now she had just revealed that she was working with him; that was probably how the traps were set up. Tiberius didn't expect Dorea to willingly ally herself with a Career, but in light of recent events it was plausible.

"Me too," Dorea quickly replied, her eyes shifting to her sword and shield to find that Tiberius had already placed a foot on them both, sweeping them towards himself.

"Answer truthfully, Dorea. You've already lied to me twice."

"I wasn't lying that time," Dorea insisted. "I don't know where Dade is. He set up all the traps for us. It's no wonder you didn't get caught in them. But I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?"

"Dorea," Tiberius went on, "I learned to study body language a bit during my training. How dumb do you think I am?"

"Look," Dorea replied, "Just get me my weapons back and we can be on our way. I've been meaning to leave the temple anyway. I won't have to kill you if we stop fighting right now, and you can go and kill Steele."

"I said…" Tiberius repeated softly. "HOW INCOMPOTENT DO YOU PERCEIVE ME TO BE?!" Dorea tried to grab her weapons, but Tiberius kicked them back behind him, pinning himself and the weapons against a tree.

"Did you think that you could just catch me in a trap and kill me like I'm some lesser tribute?" Tiberius demanded, his tone having become a bit softer, although he was still irritated. He didn't want to unleash all his anger at Dorea. Some had to be saved for Steele, who deserved it a whole lot more than Dorea ever did. Dorea had her own uses, and right now he needed her to cooperate with him, just like she had been doing before.

"You did, didn't you?" Tiberius went on. "You thought that you were the only one who knew about traps and such, didn't you? You thought that you had knowledge on your side. Well, as I've just demonstrated, I can catch up with you in that department very quickly. Did you seriously expect that you could treat me the same way you would dispose of a non-Career? Did you really think you were _better _than me?"

Dorea said nothing, only frowning. Tiberius was beginning to regret forcing Dorea to say things she didn't want to, but he reminded himself that her life wasn't being threatened; she could defend herself well enough. She was surrendering all on her own.

"Answer me, Dorea," Tiberius went on, his voice soft once again. "If your plan was to keep me from getting whatever was inside the temple, it wouldn't have worked. I should have just killed you after disarming you, but instead I'm talking to you. I don't want you killed just yet. And it seems to me like you don't want me to be killed in a hurry, either. Why is that?"

Dorea looked up at him finaly, rage blazing in her eyes.

"Congratulations. You've managed to satisfy your ego _and_ prove that you have some degree of civility," she replied harshly. "But Elodie is already better than you at that, so if you want to win by being as Steele-like as possible, forget it."

"What do you mean, Steele-like?" Tiberius asked anxiously. She wasn't supposed to know, and if she talked about it now that he just might have to kill her.

"I can see what you're doing," Dorea went on. "The Capitol apparently doesn't like your ruthlessness, so you're trying to tone yourself down. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor." Her last statement was obviously sarcastic.

"I'll do whatever I need to do to survive," Tiberius countered simply.

"Whatever. The point is, you actually _are _a bit better than me, at least in terms of survivability," Dorea declared. Tiberius felt that this was a sort of surrender from her, but he was intrigued as to how her mind might have come up with it.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"The Gamemakers—thanks to your little rivalry with Steele, I know that they wouldn't let me kill you until you've killed Steele. We were certainly hurting each other a few minutes ago, but if it came to killing, I know that they'd do something to stop me. Maybe send a tree between us, have you get snatched by a bird mutt—anything for the rivalry they've probably been building up back in the Capitol. I knew you'd come here looking for an artifact from one of the gods, and so I set up the traps to try and have you incapacitated. I just want to survive, Tiberius. You're the predator, and I'm the prey. Happy now?"

Tiberius sighed thoughtfully. He really had no desire to kill Dorea; indeed, he had to admire her tenacity and understanding of the Games. He didn't want to test out her assumptions on his immunity, but the Gamemakers didn't seem too interested in stopping him from killing her. He remembered how back in the training center he had assigned her the duty of being his right-hand woman; even this late in the Games he was hoping that she could do what he had wanted her to. So an idea was conceived in his mind.

"I think there's a way we can work this out. And it involves both of us surviving," Tiberius declared. "Let's go back to being allies again. Everything else can just be water under the bridge. We're much stronger together than we are apart, Dorea. Think about it—when did the Games get harder for you, and why? I need you to be my right hand. And when I'm through with Steele, we'll never have to see each other again."

"I'd…I don't know," Dorea admitted. "I tried to hide things from you because I was scared of you. I wanted to be able to control you, but now you want to control me."

"That's what the Games are about, Dorea," Tiberius reminded her. "We use each other to help each other survive. And then when we're done with our toys, we put them up, never to play with them again. Would you rather give yourself assurance that you'll survive the night, or would you rather fight a battle that you can't win?"

"I'd rather take the former," Dorea replied. "But there's got to be a catch."

"How right you are," Tiberius said, stooping to grab her weapons. Now that Dorea was unarmed Tiberius walked swiftly into the cave to see what she had been hiding.

"Herbs…poison…nightlock…a guide for everything," Tiberius muttered as he stripped the room of its contents. He could hear Dorea follow him in, looking concerned but helpless. He had made suer to keep her backpack and spare weapons within his reach. Finally, he saw the boy from 7 lying down on the floor, unconscious. Next to him lay a green pole. Picking it up, Tiberius tried to wave it around, only for it to have no visible effect on anything.

"No matter," he remarked. "I'll just make you pay a different price." He watched Dorea's face as he stabbed her helpless ally in the neck, covering her face with her hands as the boy's cannon rang out.

"Chances are Steele and her boyfriend aren't in this forest," he told her casually. Dorea dried her eyes and nodded.

"Let's check the mountains or the desert," she suggested, her voice nearly cracking from sorrow.

"We can start searching in the morning," Tiberius told her. Once he had dragged the boy's body out from the temple, he set about distributing the supplies. He took only her shield, an energy drink and half of her throwing knives. "You can keep everything else, but remember; soon it will all be over, one way or another. I'm just trying to make it a bit easier for both of us. I'm not asking you to like me or trust me. I just want you to work with me."

"But why?" Dorea whispered as the Capitol anthem played. The two were surprised and relieved to find that Noiz was dead; neither one of them had particularly liked her, but given the day's events neither of them were in a mood to celebrate.

"Because, Dorea," Tiberius replied, "You're an equal, perhaps even a superior. You really _are _better than me. I'm going to need a restrained, rational ally to deal with the _thing _that I've hated for so long. Steele is not just an ideologically dangerous person—she's the ticket to freedom, for one of us. You need her dead just as much as I do. Good night."

The two Careers fell asleep in silence, knowing that their associate in the room with them had to be kept alive for just a little bit longer.

**AN: Sorry if it seems like my updating has been a bit sporadic lately. I would have been done with the last chapter—and this one—faster, but basically my brother is leaving for college and wants to spend time with me. School hasn't started yet, but when it does things probably won't be slowed down.**

**Dade Novak—In hindsight, you could have died in the last chapter, but I wanted you and Noiz to die separately. You were a very unique tribute, perhaps the most original "bully" I've seen in a SYOT—and to me a very believable one. An older kid would have seemed a bit unusual, but at age 12 you were perfect, what with your survivability skills and everything. I'm sorry I had to kill you off; it's just that people that hide and survive usually don't come out on top in the end. I was glad that you at least made one human friend that****valued you before your death.**

**Hunger status:**

**Dorea: Hungry**

**Tiberius: Famished**

**Steele: Not Hungry**

**Clyde: Famished**

**Riley: Hungry**

**Darius: Hungry**

**Elodie: Satiated**

**Amruen: Not Hungry**

**Rocko: Famished**

**Lidda: Hungry**

**Sponsor points list: Same as before, given previous review problems.**

**Good news and bad news: The good news is that the reviews work! The bad news is that I discovered why nobody's been reviewing. I forgot to upload a chapter! I put in the documents but then I just forgot to add it to the story. That chapter included Noiz's death, which would make the scene with Lidda later on make much more sense. Just go back to the beginning of Day 3 and re-read the whole day, please, I don't want anybody getting confused. I can't believe I messed up my own story like that! And to think I didn't get it when someone told me!**


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